


The First to Break

by depthsofmysol



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Non Consensual, OTB, Psychological Torture, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofmysol/pseuds/depthsofmysol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loyalty was a trait that John Blake considered to be one his strong suits. After being captured by Bane's men, how far will his loyalty take him? Enough to keep the information about Gordon and the others safe? Or will he be the first to break under Bane and Barsad's skilled manipulations?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a fill for [this](http://tdkr-kink.livejournal.com/3076.html?thread=2505476#t2505476) prompt on tdkr kink meme. About half way through it started to take on a life of its own, and deviated from the prompt. Hopefully it's just as good.

_Everyone seemed to know better than him, that he was nothing more than some hot-headed rookie and shouldn't even be given the time of day. The one thing he learned from being shuffled from foster home to foster home was tenacity. And having found the people behind the bomb and then passing that information along to Commissioner Gordon, John knew they couldn't just sit on it. Not with the plan they were currently trying to put together to save Gotham. It had to come out, and he knew it. Though proving to them that he was the hot-headed rookie they all thought he was may not have been the smartest of moves. At least it got them to listen to him. Which was what he needed them to do._

_"I came upstairs looking for a vantage point. Found the people who run the corporation living there."_

_"What corporation?"_

_"Wayne Enterprises."_

It was the last conversation John remembered having before they had left the building. They'd found some abandoned restaurant to meet the special forces team that had been smuggled into the city, and when he had revealed to them the location of the remaining members of the board of Wayne Enterprises they'd crept back out into the city and into the building where he'd initially found them. The roaming patrols were difficult to evade. Their trip made even more difficult by the shear number of people that had insisted on going. The more that went the more likely they were to be spotted and cut down by Bane's men. But they all demanded to go, and he could only nod and follow along like some dejected puppy.

Once they had made it to the other building he had been forced to stay towards the back and make certain no one had followed them. John had been the one to find them, had been the one to share their location, and now he was the one who had to sit and watch while his hard work got credited to someone else. He had decided to all but tune out their conversation, preferring to take watch and hope that the mercenary’s men hadn't found them. There were too many spots in the old financial building, too many places where people could sneak in and ambush them. It hadn't been the best place for them to conduct that meeting, hindsight being what it was. But it had been the way the opportunity presented itself.

John had no idea how many minutes had passed. Just that one moment they were on the verge of returning to the abandoned restaurant they were using as an impromptu headquarters and the next there was machine gun fire all around. He vaguely remembered yelling for them all to run and get out in the hopes that at least some of them would survive to continue their fight. With the chaos of the special forces team fighting the mercenaries he had pushed the small group towards a door that he knew would lead them to the street. Just as he was about to join them he felt the searing pain in his side, a pain that indicated he'd been shot. Whether it had ricochetted from all the chaos or not, it didn't matter. He'd been compromised and he yelled at the others to go before they were as well.

In an effort to conceal his presence, he'd taken up refuge behind one of the many pillars that lined the second floor. John had heard Bane speaking with the man that had identified himself as Captain Jones, heard him defiantly state he would die before he spoke. It had been a foolish move and hearing the bones shatter under the pressure of what he could only assume was the mercenary's foot, promised himself he wouldn't succumb to their demands. If he was going to die he knew it would be from the wound to his side, the wound which kept oozing blood, running in rivulets across his hand, his uniform and onto the floor beneath him.

The edges of his vision were starting to go dark and it was only a matter of time before he either passed out from the blood loss or died from it. Death would have been preferred, considering the last thing he heard was Bane telling his men to bring him back for questioning.


	2. Chapter 2

"Glad you could join us, Officer Blake," came the voice. It was distant, mechanical almost. The mercenary Bane. It had to have been him. His lids were still heavy, the only thing he could recognize were the sounds the other man's boots made as he walked around his body. There was the sound of water, of it falling and hitting the concrete floor. And there was the pain that radiated through every part of his body. John could still feel the dried blood along his side, along with dried sweat and dirt and grime from wherever it was they were holding him. It was the pain, though, that dragged him back from the darkness that had enveloped him.

His eyes fluttered open, met with the harsh light of the room they were in. John blinked multiple times in an attempt to adjust, only to find his eyes focusing on the storm blue grey eyes of the mercenary. Were they anyone else's but Bane's he would have found himself attracted to them. They weren't. They were those of a madman, a killer, and one who had no qualms about killing millions of innocent people to cleanse a city full of corruption. Attraction was the last thing on his mind. He would survive, needed to survive. If not for those he'd sacrificed his life for to get out of the bank, than for the kids at St. Swithins. Innocent children need not die. Not for the small percentage of corrupt in their city.

"The others who were with you," Bane asked, methodically moving around their prisoner. He was a patient man, and could wait until the officer decided to talk. If he chose not to, he would get it using other methods, methods that were not quite as pleasant. "Where are they hiding?" Watching, he could see the fire beneath the other man's skin, knew that he wouldn't give up their location so soon. And he was satisfied with that. There should be some amount of struggle, some amount of fun to their interrogation. Everyone was different, they all had their breaking points. It was just a matter of figuring out it out. Eventually the boy would break and when he did it would be at his hands and no one else.

"Names. Who else is involved in this," he asked as he continued to move around the officer, studying his every reaction. His second in command had informed him of the wound to his side, how it should be taken care of sooner rather than later. Bane had informed the man it would be. Once he was done using it to his advantage. Pain was one of many tools he used when looking for information. "You do them no favour by staying silent," he informed the boy as he placed his hand strategically over his wound. "You will talk. And when you do you will tell me what I want to know." The moment the last word left his lips he applied constant pressure around the wound, watching as fresh blood started to seep out and into the shirt they'd left on, feeling the bullet shift under his fingertips.

The pain had been tolerable, Bane's voice having given him something to focus on. Now it was unbearable and the involuntary scream that came forth a sign of the control he'd lost. John had refused to talk, would not give up the information quite so easily. He had struggled to get away from the source of his pain, had come to the conclusion they'd strung him up like some sort of animal and with no where to go refocused his efforts on not passing out. There were too many lives at stake, too many people counting on him to hold out. The white, hot pain, the amusement that seemed to be dancing in the mercenary's eyes, the edges of his world once again starting to go black – this was some sort of sick game, one that none of his foster parents had ever played. It was a game he would win. Bane would not break him. No matter what he said or did, he would not break him. He would –

When he came to again he was no longer strung up, instead having been placed on some sort of cot. The room wasn't as bright as the one he'd initially woken up to, and the sounds of water weren't as loud as they had been. John knew he was in another part of the compound albeit still underground. That much he could tell by the smells that lingered in the air around them. Had they left him alone to die? Or were they waiting for him to heal before starting the interrogation all over again? He didn't want to wait for them to make up their minds. If they had left him alone he would use it for his own escape. The wound would slow him down but he could make it far enough into the sewers to lose them. He had to. Otherwise they would eventually kill him.

His first attempt at getting up was met with a firm hand on his shoulder pushing him back down. "Now that you're awake, I need to dig the bullet out of you," the voice told him in an accent that was different from that of his first tormentor. John hadn't thought a group of mercenaries and killers would have a doctor within their ranks. What need would they have for someone to repair their wounds when they could just replenish their ranks from wherever it was they came from? It hurt to think, and flicking his eyes towards the voice found himself looking at a man that couldn't have been much older than himself. He knew he looked young even though he wasn't, but this man looked almost as young as his real age. Were they all like that? Or just those he'd had the misfortune of running into?

"It will be painful and I have nothing for it," the man explained as he gathered up the necessary tools. He'd already experienced the pain associated with being shot followed by the pain of being tortured. In his opinion it couldn't get any worse. John would have preferred something to take the edge off of it all, but with the occupation he knew such luxuries would be impossible. Even for Bane's group, it seemed. "Also try not to move. It will make it worse for you." Of course it would, he thought as different scenarios ran through his head, the next being worst than the last. He'd survived being shot. Having it dug out of his body without any sort of painkiller couldn't have been any worse than that. Right?

"Bite down on this," was the only warning he'd been given before he felt the hem of his shirt being lifted up and his torso exposed to the air. John knew what would happen next, had known the instant what he could only assume was leather had been shoved into his mouth. It didn't prepare him for the searing pain that shot through his body, the involuntary scream that was held back by the strip in his mouth at the feeling of the knife that the other man was using to dig around for the bullet in his side. He could feel it each time the knife dug deeper, could feel the skin and muscle rip, could feel the pressure and pain radiate out and he could even feel the bullet shift within him. And on top of that he was told not to move.

His body was instinctively trying to move away from pain and the pressure while he was forcing it to stay still. It was a war John wasn't even sure he could win. He'd never had a high tolerance for pain, and with each movement from the knife he felt like he was going to die. Death probably would have been welcomed like an old friend. But with each passing moment he felt his body slowly start to rebel and John knew it was only a matter of time before he could no longer keep his body still. "Do not move," the voice punctuated each word along with pressing down on his chest. All he could do was nod as the man went back to work, and the pain radiated out even further to the point that he could feel himself slowly losing consciousness. Soon, he told himself, it had to be over soon…

Barsad had seen all sorts of men during his time with Bane and the Brotherhood. And he had dug out far too many bullets to have kept track. Yet in all his time he had yet to see someone like the boy he'd just worked on. He had watched from afar as his brother had questioned him, watched as the officer stayed quiet until the calculated pressure was applied to the wound on his side. He had watched even though he'd told Bane that if they wanted the boy alive they needed to remove the bullet sooner rather than later. Chained or not, he would watch over his brother to make certain nothing happened that couldn't be dealt with swiftly. The boy was stubborn and yet underneath it was a determination he'd seen in their sister. And that sort of thing made people unpredictable.

"I'm done," he told the boy, shaking his head at the fact that he'd once again passed out. Barsad placed his fist on the other man's chest and applied just enough pressure to rouse him. The boy's reaction was one he had expected, and laughed at the wild look that had settled into his eyes the instant they flew open. "If I wanted you dead, little one, I wouldn't have wasted my time patching you up," he told him as he pried the fingers from around his wrist. The stitches he'd put into the other man were enough to keep the wound closed but not tight enough to pull come the next day when Bane would chain him up once again for interrogation.

"Rest now," he said as he made certain the restraints would keep the boy from getting up and making an escape, or worse using one of the tools as a weapon. Barsad didn't think he would rest but neither would he be going anywhere. He'd done what he had to to keep their prisoner alive and as long as infection didn't set in, the boy would survive to see another day. Surviving the interrogation sessions with Bane, on the other hand, was not his concern. It was up to the man on the bed to actually do that. And Barsad had a feeling he would. One way or another he would find a way as he'd seen the spark during the interrogation.

Now it was time to take care of his brother, to make certain that the chemicals didn't need to be replenished or changed completely. He hadn't been able to replicate it exactly but over time he had found the right combination that eased his brother's suffering. Supplies had been difficult, some even impossible to get his hands on, once they'd laid siege to Gotham. Even now certain compounds were running dangerously low, to the point that he would need to scour the city once again to find enough to make certain his brother had the relief he needed. Until that time came he would make do with what was available. And gathering a few of the small, sealed vials he left their prisoner to his own thoughts and made his way from his own quarters to those that his brother had decided to use for his own.

After the day's excitement the men had returned to the tasks they'd been assigned, and the walk from his quarters to that of his brother was met with only a few questioning looks. Barsad answered to no one other than their sister, her plan the one they were all working towards. The boy was just the latest tool for them to achieve that goal. And those who actually dared question him were met with a single raised eyebrow, a warning that should they dare to question him that it would be met with a single bullet between the eyes. No one down in the sewers was irreplaceable. Himself being the rare exclusion. And only because he served a vital purpose to their cause. Had he not been needed to make certain their brother could execute the plan without constantly being hindered by pain, he wouldn't have made it as far as he had.

Or quite possible he may have survived. Somewhere along the way something had changed between the three of them, something that none of them dared spoke about, let alone put a label to. The nights usually spent alone had been spent together, talk of their plan to cleanse Gotham had included his own input, and his brother had finally allowed him to make an attempt at easing his pain. A level of trust, one that was rarely found in the Brotherhood, had formed between them and Barsad knew it was what held them together even when shadows of doubt began to creep into their thoughts. That bond, no matter how strange and unfamiliar it was, would be the one thing that kept them on the path they'd set out.

"How is our guest, brother," he asked. Bane had heard his brother enter the small room he had cordoned off, had heard him just stand there and wait until he was spoken to. Barsad made the perfect second-in-command, never questioning, never doubting, always willing to serve. He would also make the perfect addition to his interrogation, someone their prisoner would never expect. Or maybe he would. It changed nothing. His second-in-command would not only make certain John Blake did not die, but would also feed him any information that was gained during their time together. Information he would use to break Blake to the point where he would give him anything he wanted.

"Alive," Barsad answered. It was the truth. The boy was alive, and would be so until the next morning. Unless he found some way of getting free of his restraints. And then the only thing he would do would be to pull the stitches out, requiring him to once again fix them. "The delay did no serious harm, and I made certain that you will not do much damage tomorrow. Unfortunately, he refuses to say anything. But the fire within him burns bright, brother."

"It does, you are correct," was the mercenary's reply. Bane had noticed the fire, the desire to fight and stay alive at all costs during their short interrogation session. The boy would have made a fine member, one they could have moulded to their desires had they come upon him sooner. And maybe they still could. It would require them to break him far more than they had discussed previously. The boy may not even survive it. Would the work required be worth it for such a short period of time? Or were they better off breaking him for the information they required and leaving him to die? "A shame we hadn't found him earlier."

"Aye, I agree," Barsad agreed. It was strange to hear his brother speak in such a manner. They had brought many prisoners down to the sewers but none had ever piqued the other man's curiosity like this one. Something about the boy his brother found useful. And maybe a part of him had as well. It was rare to find someone with the sort of fire that burned so brightly and yet so uncontrolled. The last person he had seen had been their sister. Now, they had someone else who echoed Talia when they first came together. "But we have found him now. It will just take more work than we had initially thought. Let me tend to you first and then we can discuss our little one."

Bane motioned for Barsad to enter, to work on replacing the chemicals as well as tending to any other needs that may arise. The trust between them, something that had been built up over time, meant he had no reason to be concerned when Barsad knelt in front of him and reached for the straps that held his mask in place. He needed to eat, of course, and to do that meant removing the mask that provided the relief from the constant pain that coursed through his body. It was his one weakness, one he had worked had to overcome. To remove it, if only momentarily, meant allowing someone to see him at his most vulnerable. His second-in-command had earned his trust, and had earned the right to see him in his current state. Anyone else and they would have ended up in the outflows.

"I am done, brother," Barsad told him after the last strap was in place. He made certain not to waste any time when it came to their daily routine, as the longer Bane went without the chemicals the worse his pain became. And with the pain came his temper. Something he had been witness to many times in the past. It was those times that had him refining the process to the point it was militaristic in nature. There were no unnecessary movements, nothing going to waste.

"You are to befriend our guest, Barsad," Bane told the other man once the latest batch of chemicals entered his body. He had felt the limit of his tolerance quickly slipping away. Even with their daily interactions being as efficient as they were there were still times when he felt the withdrawal settling into his body. In the past, he may have lashed out. Now, he waited as patiently as one could when pain became a controlling factor in life."Any information you learn you will feed back to me. Are we clear?"

Barsad only nodded his understanding. There were no words that needed to be said. His assignment was clear and would be done as his brother had ordered. If they were to truly break the boy in order to remould him, they would need far more time than they had. Between the two of them there was a bit of hope that it could be done. And if not, they would all die with those in the city.


	3. Chapter 3

_It was warm, it was comforting, it was home. The mercenary, Bane, was nothing more than some convoluted nightmare. Along with the occupation, the gunshot wound, the fact that many of the boys from the orphanage had gone missing. None of it had happened. All just a dream and one he would eventually wake from. Just not yet. It was too early. Just a few more minutes…_

The feeling of being watched, of having another set of eyes focused on his body, had somehow permeated the layers of his subconscious, dragging him back to reality. John knew who it was without having to even open up his eyes. There was only one person who would dare watch him, to study him like some sort of puzzle needing to be solved. Bane. And if the mercenary thought he could be broken, he would soon find out that his anger and stubbornness were more than just survival tactics. They were who he was as a person. And they would keep him safe no matter what they eventually decided to do with him.

"You think me such a fool as to believe you are still asleep," Bane said. He had known the boy was awake the instant his breathing had changed. Such a simple thing breathing was. A necessity of life. And something that would give away a body's own reactions, as well, were they not trained how to properly control it. This boy had not. "We have much to discuss, you and I, Officer Blake." Pressure applied to the wound from the previous day had the boy's eyes shooting open, the amount of pain etched into his features and the way he bit back showing how much his simple gesture had affected him. This was only the beginning. He knew far more places on the body that would cause him pain, some more than others. And the boy had no training, nothing to fall back on, and he would give in if given enough time. He just needed to find the right combination of pain centres and the rest would fall into place.

"So once again I ask – the names of those involved."

The pain that shot through his body was white hot and John tried to move away even though he knew it wasn't pointless. It was different from his previous attempts, having used his wound against him. This time the mercenary had decided on something completely different, something he couldn't even anticipate, and the pain that radiated from that one point a sign that maybe he had underestimated Bane. He refused to speak, though. The taste of copper in his mouth from having bitten his tongue made for an easy distraction as the sound of the other's footsteps echoed around him. John could deal with the pain, would focus on the kids that were depending on him making it out alive, and could hold out until Bane grew tired and either killed him or left him for dead.

"You think your obstinance will keep you safe," Bane told the other man as he walked. The first pressure point he had used was nothing more than a test, something to see how the boy would react. It had worked, had noticed that his body naturally moved away from the source of pain. His next experiment would see just how he handled having two more pressure points pressed. "It does nothing more than prolong your suffering. _Who_ are you working with." In one quick motion, he applied pressure to two completely different points, watching as the boy's body was unable to move from one without having to deal with pain from the other. Beautiful if he believed in such a thing. Especially when coupled with the first of what was bound to be many screams.

It had hurt. More so than the first time. There wasn't just one point where the pain radiated out, there were now two. Two white hot points of pain and the sound that echoed in John's ears sounded nothing like his own voice. He had tried to move away from the first, tried again to move from the second, but each time the pain seemed to intensify. With the ache from having the bullet dug out the previous day, his body was nothing but one raw nerve ending waiting for something to soothe it. And yet he still refused to talk. As much as it hurt, as much as he thought he was going to die and just wanted it to end, he refused to give up the information.

"We know about the orphanage, _Officer_ Blake," Bane said, applying pressure to yet another point, one that would cause far more pain than the previous. "Know that you offer your help, your services. And such good workers those boys are." Many boys had entered the sewers looking for work, and many of those they had taken care of once the work they'd been hired on for was complete. Of course, they still had some working in parts of the sewers that were no where near where they were currently working. They would be a part of his plan to break the boy and if necessary they would find more. He had no qualms about killing if it made a point.

The kids. John knew he had to protect the kids even though the latest round of pain was far worse than the last. Or maybe it only felt that way because Bane hadn't allowed him much time to deal with everything that had been dealt to his body. But hearing that Bane knew about the missing boys from the orphanage, knew about his work with them and how he tried to help out whenever he could, sent panic racing through him. John knew better than to put anything past the mercenary. He was willing to kill everyone in the city for his cause. But children? All he could do was raise his head and give Bane a weak albeit defiant look, something that said nice try.

"In the end you will tell me what you know," Bane told him. He had not been amused with the look of defiance and in a moment of frustration applied far more pressure than necessary against the boy's wound, watching with glee as blood started to seep into the shirt. Barsad wouldn't be thrilled but as someone in charge it was his choice as to what was and was not done to their prisoners. Again the sweet music of pain came forth and echoed around them. And again the boy had given in to the body's natural defence and blacked out. He should have left them there, allowed him to hang there by his wrists until the next day when he would start the interrogations again. But the pain he'd put the boy through, the thoughts he'd left him with meant the possibility of Barsad being able to get through to him.

When John woke it was to the sight of the same man who'd removed the bullet poking and prodding the wound, sending new waves of pain throughout his body. He'd tried to swat them away, to stop the minute ripples of pain cascading through his body, only to find that he was unable to. Bane had done quite the number on him, and he wasn't ready to deal with yet another round of torture. His pathetic attempts had been met with laughter, a rich sound coming from someone he thought knew nothing about joy and happiness. They were mercenaries, after all, people who were interested in destroying the city he'd sworn to protect. What did they know about joy, about happiness, about doing something because they could, because it was right and not just because it was there? No, the laugh was nothing more than a taunt, a way to remind him that he was stuck and the look of defiance he shot the other man a sign that he wasn't about to give in.

"If you give my brother what he's looking for, he will go easier on you," Barsad told the boy, amused that he thought a single look would actually deter him.

Ha, John thought, knowing that the other was only trying to goad him into talking. He knew better than to think that any information he gave up would make whatever time he had left with them go easier. He'd be a fool to think so and naïvety wasn't something that suited him. His time in the system had rid himself of such notions, had forced him to see the stark reality for what it was – information given came at some sort of cost. Giving up the information on the small group of resistance fighters would mean their untimely death. And the death of the whole city. John wasn't about to give them up. Even though he was certain they would assume the worst and think him dead already.

"You don't believe me?" And why would he? Barsad knew the boy was smarter than he looked. And stronger. He had lasted two days at the hands of his brother and had yet to break. In the end everyone broke. It mattered not how strong they were. The body would only last so long before it snapped. And when it did, people were willing to give up any and everything in an attempt to put an end to their suffering. He had seen it before, and he would see it again with the boy. It was just a matter of time.

"Course not," John muttered, earning him the strangest of looks from the other man. He hadn't meant to say something, but the words, the question was just begging for some sort of response. Unfortunately, it meant they now knew he was actually capable of speech and that he was staying silent as a choice and not because he was unable to talk. "What? You thought I couldn't talk?"

"No, we knew you could. Just – surprised to see you decided to, that is all." It was a start, an opening and one Barsad would use to see what else he could get from the boy. If he was willing to talk, he could find topics for them to discuss, information would inadvertently be given and his job would be done. "My brother is not the monster he is made out to be," he explained once he was finished cleaning up the wound that had been reopened during the day's interrogation. "If you give him what he wants he will ease your suffering."

"Of course he will. I'll end up in the outflows and the others will be put into that farce of a court that Crane runs," he snapped back, chastising himself internally for allowing the other to get the better of him. John knew better than to take the bait that had been dangled in front of him. But his quick temper had always gotten the better of him. Today was no different. "Eventually, your master will get bored and find someone else to get the information from. I can hold out till that happens." His sarcastic answer got him a cuff to the back of his head, and the glare he sent in response was met with another laugh. John couldn't win no matter what he did.

"He is my brother, little one. Not my master," he explained as he shook his head. Barsad never explained the relationship between himself and Bane. It mattered to no one other than Talia, and with her off in the city there was no need to even talk about it. But hearing the boy talk about his brother in such a manner had him wanting to say something. It also gave them an opening to talk. What about didn't matter. Information was shared when one least expected it and by getting the boy to open up, he would inadvertently share something of value.

"And you should try to see things from a different perspective," he told him, knowing all about the boy's background. "Is it so wrong what we want to do? To rid a city rife with corruption and return it to those who matter the most?"

John had no retort for that. Of course there was nothing wrong with ridding the city of the corruption that had plagued it of late. It was just _how_ they were going about it that was wrong. Murder was never an answer. And their plan was full of it – the innocent and the guilty alike. They had no right to play judge, jury and executioner. That was the role of the courts. The _real_ ones and not the farces that Crane had set up in the old courthouse. John could agree there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. It was just how that bothered him.

"The system is broken, and has been for far too long," Barsad continued to say, watching the boy to see if he had found something that would get him to talk once again. He could see the wheels, the cogs turning in the other's head, knew if he found the right topic the boy would once again open up and share with him. "You, of all people, should know that. Watching as the older boys from the orphanage are kicked out with no real hope of bettering themselves, all the while there are people living well above their means, people willing to do whatever it takes to keep their lofty position in life."

"Of course the system is broken," John snapped back, having once again allowed his temper to get the better of him. Laying there listening to the other, he hadn't wanted to let the words sink in, hadn't wanted to agree that maybe they were right. Thinking they were right would mean everything he'd believed in was a lie and it wasn't. It wasn't…

"But what you're doing? How are you better than everyone else? You think by destroying the city you'll cleanse it of corruption but you won't," he told the other man, believing with all that he was that there was a better way to fix Gotham. John had seen first hand how broken the system was, having been shuffled between multiple foster homes growing up before being stuck at St. Swithins. And during all that time, he'd never thought about just how it could be fixed. Only that killing someone was never a solution. "You'll end up killing innocent lives."

"Sometimes one must shed blood of a few innocents to fix the problem," Barsad told him matter-of-factly. Death was a part of life and he had shed more than a few drops of blood over the years. It wasn't something that bothered him. Neither was the fact that their plan would end up killing more than just the corrupt of Gotham. It was what had to be done. Thinking about the specifics made no sense.

"And you wonder why I'd rather keep silent than giving up what I know to that mercenary," John muttered, turning his head to focus on the wall instead of the man beside him. He had spent far too much time studying the man, the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the way his face took on a look of almost nonchalance, how his eyes had a drowsy look to them when he just sat there and listened. Like the mercenary Bane, had they not been the people they were John knew he may have found them both oddly attractive. But they were nothing more than killers, thugs planning on wiping out an entire city because of some convoluted plan. That destroyed any sort of thoughts he had of them.

"No I do not wonder, I know," Barsad said as he reached over to tousle the other's hair. The reaction he got in return was well worth the effort, and even brought the hint of a smile to his face. "I shall get us something to eat, and if you'd like we can continue our discussion."

"And if I decline?"

"Than we shall sit and eat in silence. The choice is yours, little one," he told the boy before leaving to gather something for them to eat. Barsad would first make a detour to inform his brother of the information he'd gained. And then he would gather something for them to eat. The information, though, would be used to see just where the path needed to go, and if they could actually succeed in breaking the boy before their time was up.


	4. Chapter 4

Something had changed. John wasn't sure what, just that when he woke the next day he was still on the cot he remembered falling asleep on the previous night. He'd expected to have woken up to the mechanical sounds and the storm blue-grey eyes indicative of the mercenary. He had also expected another round of torture – more of the physical stuff that Bane had decided to employ in an attempt to extract the information from him followed by time spent with the man he'd learned was called Barsad. The academy had given them only the briefest of introductions as to what they should do should they ever find themselves being taken hostage. None of it covered what had been done to him. And he considered himself lucky that he'd yet to actually break. The pain was worse than anything anyone could have actually told him, and were it not for the fact that too many people were depending on his silence, he may have actually considered sharing what he knew. Might being the operative word.

He hadn't, though, and rolling over onto his other side found that someone had left food for him. John had also noticed they'd changed his restraints. Gone were the ones that kept him chained closely to the bed, replaced with something that would actually allow him to get up and walk around. He didn't think they would give him enough to walk to the work bench on the far side of the room, or even to the door, but once he was finished with his meal he was going to see just how much freedom they had decided to give him. Somewhere there had to be something he could use to free himself from the rope-like restraints they'd decided to use. Though what would he do once he had freed himself? The door was bound to be locked, and even if he could get out, the sewers were crawling with more mercenaries than he could fight off on his own. And he knew they would be all the more interested in getting their hands on one of Gotham's finest.

No, for now he would need to stay put, hold out until he could figure out how to get out of the sewers without attracting unwanted attention. It wasn't the best of plans, and John wasn't even sure he could last another few rounds of interrogation with Bane. His tolerance for pain was being put to the test each time the mercenary decided to question him. The pressure points had actually surprised him. What sort of person would have thought to use such a thing in interrogations unless they'd been trained? Rumours had swirled that Bane had been trained by the League of Shadows. But that's all there was. Rumours and video tapes showing just how merciless he was when it came to fighting. Now he had first had knowledge, and if he could last long enough to make it out alive he could pass it on to the others. Maybe they could actually do something with the information that he couldn't. _If_ he made it out alive, that was.

He poked at the meal in front of him, wondering why it looked nothing like the meal that Barsad had brought for them the night before. This morning's meal consisted of water and barely enough gruel to keep him alive for however long it was the next meal was. Or maybe that was the plan. Weaken him to the point he could no longer fight against his survival instincts. John hadn't thought that things would have been like the night before, where Barsad had brought him more than what had been placed in front of him, had actually talked to him like a person and not some hot headed officer, and had even joked with him like they were friends and not the prisoner that he was.

He also knew better than to assume that the previous night had been something other than Barsad cozying up to him in an attempt gather information. It was a routine John had seen before, the whole good cop/bad cop routine. Barsad being nice to him, engaging him in what seemed like innocuous conversation all the while trying to pry the same information Bane had been trying to get. He'd given the other man nothing more than his opinion, something he could chew on but nothing of use to their cause. If they honestly thought that it would work, they would need to rethink their strategy. Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed the other's company, and that now the room felt a bit too empty without someone there to distract him. It was what it was, and to think it any differently wouldn't do him or those he was protecting any good. He just had to hold out until they either got bored or the bomb went off. Whichever came first.

Staring down at the bowl, he was surprised to find almost half of the meal gone. He had tried to go slowly, to make it last as long as possible as he had no idea if they would feed him again or not. But hunger had gotten the better of him. Time spent with a family who was more interested in the money having foster kids brought in than enough food on the table had taught him to eat while he could and figure out the rest later. It was a sound, though, that had him pausing midway, a sound that sounded familiar and yet not at the same time. Was it a scream? Or maybe a figment of his imagination. So many things were going on in the sewer systems that it could have been any of them.

John continued to saviour the last of the meal when he heard it again. This time it was louder, closer even. And it wasn't some sort of mechanical noise, or something from the sewer. It was most definitely human in origin. That he was certain of. But it had no bearing on his situation. He was stuck in the room with nothing to do or no one to talk to, so of course his brain thought of other ways to keep him occupied. And then it happened again a few moments later. The same sound, the same horrified, pain-filled scream filtered in through the door and John closed his eyes in an attempt to block it all out. It wasn't his problem, wasn't something he should concern himself with. And with nothing to do, he figured sleep was the best option.

He closed his eyes, deciding to take advantage of the silence when a new sound pierced the air. It was different from the last one, still full of pain but almost desperate in nature. Was it even the same person? Or had they moved on? John squeezed his eyes tighter, not wanting to think about what all they could be doing to that person. He still had the memories of what Bane had done to him, of how he'd used his injury to cause him even more pain, and then the pressure points, lighting his body on fire in a way that was anything but pleasurable. He didn't even want to imagine what was going outside of the small room he'd been kept in. What good would it do? None, he told himself as he forced his thoughts away from the mental images of the torture, of _his_ torture, that kept filtering in. John just wanted to close his eyes, to rest and think about just how he was going to get out of there in one piece.

There was absolutely nothing he could do to those on the other side of the door. They'd chosen their own fate, like he'd been forced into his. To think about them only made the situation worse. Not that his current situation was any better, but dwelling on the pain and suffering of those he couldn't do anything about only served to worsen his already bad mood. Instead, he burrowed into the tattered blanket and shut his eyes, forcing himself to sleep, forcing his thoughts to be anything but the sound that kept echoing off the walls. He refused to let them get the better of him, refused to let them know that they may have cracked the armour that he'd been using to protect himself. And when he dreamed, it wasn't the images of his own torture but those of the kids from the orphanage, the ones whose faces lit up each time he made a stop. They were mixed with the few memories he had of his real family, the one that had been ripped apart due to his father's gambling debts.

When he woke again, it was to the blissful sound of silence. Rolling over he found himself face to face with another meal, similar to the first. John probably should have been concerned, seeing as whomever kept leaving food for him was doing so while he was unconscious. What was to say they hadn't touched him, or done something to him while he was out cold? He would have thought that an act such as that would have woken him up. Unless they'd drugged his food, and then there was no saying just how he would have responded. Something told him they hadn't done that. Yet. His body didn't feel off, or strange, or like someone had decided to explore it with their hands or other body parts. Though that didn't mean it wouldn't happen at some point. Their tolerance would only last so long before they tried a different tactic, one much more violent than they'd been using, one that had only been mentioned in passing during their training.

Sliding off the bed, he stood up and walked the length of his restraints in order to not only get the blood flowing to his limbs, but to see just how far he could walk. Unfortunately, it wasn't very far. Only a few feet from the bed in one direction, and then to the back corner of the room off to his left. The door wasn't even an option. Just like the work bench. They'd made certain he only had enough to keep his limbs from cramping up and nothing more. Smart. Give him any more and John was certain he would have found a way out. Now, freedom was nothing more than hope being dangled in from of him like some sort of incentive.

At least it was silent. The screams had permeated his nightmares, had intertwined with his own memories of his torture and at some point he vaguely remembered screaming out in the night. It had been a miracle that he had even fallen asleep, the way the sounds kept filtering into his room. John knew what they were doing, knew that they were trying a new tactic to break him. It wouldn't work, though. There had been plenty of foster homes where he'd fallen asleep to the sounds of the other kids screaming, or had woken up to one of the others screaming out in terror. This wasn't anything new. Though he would admit that even though he had made peace with it all to a certain degree, the screams from earlier (or was it the previous day) had the childhood memories he'd never really thought about scratching at the surface.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe they'd found out about his childhood and were now using it against him. John wouldn't put it past the mercenaries. They seemed to have quite the thought out plan, what with them breaking into the Gotham Stock Exchange. Though why him, and not someone else? What made him so special? He was no one. Just some orphan cop wanting to do good for the city that he called home. There was absolutely nothing about him that stood out. When they'd caught him, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time trying to make certain they'd gotten out safe. Now, after two days (or three, he wasn't even sure how many days had passed) he would have thought they'd given up and moved on to someone who would know.

The what-ifs were starting to bother him, and as he sat down on the cot, intending to actually eat the meal that had been placed in front of him, his ears picked up the all too familiar sounds of someone's screams. Again they'd decided to torture some poor soul where he could hear it. Only this time it sounded different. He could still hear the pained cries from the victim, but between them he could hear the conversation and what he heard struck a nerve. It was familiar somehow, like he'd spoken to them in the past. Surely it wasn't –

John didn't get a chance to even finish the thought when the pained screams filtered into the room, sending a shiver down his spine. It was one of the boys from the orphanage. That much he knew. He didn't know who, or which of the boys he'd talked to over the years. But as each scream, each plea for them to stop made it to his ears, he couldn't ignore the feeling of his insides twisting. It had hit more than just a nerve. They were innocent. Much more so than the mercenaries that were currently roaming the sewers. The boys from the orphanage; their only crime was being too old to stay, and in the search of work met with someone who probably offered them the opportunity for just that and then ripped it right out from underneath of them when they no longer served a purpose.

They, among with the commissioner that he'd left behind, were the reason he needed to stay strong and not break. The sounds – they were affecting far more than he was willing to admit. Again he pushed around at his meal, his stomach unable to take any sort of food. John knew that he would have to eat but with everything in knots all he could do was stare at it, wondering how painful a death starvation would be. He knew they wouldn't let him starve but that didn't mean the thought hadn't crossed his mind. It was better than whatever it was they had planned for him. Anything was bound to be better than the constant torture that they were forcing him to endure.

The cycle of sleep and food continued for the next few days. The only real change had been the frequency of the torture sessions. Each night, John could feel his nightmares changing, taking on a darker aspect. It wasn't the sounds of the children that permeated his thoughts. It was his own. He had felt himself in their position, dealing with whatever they were dishing out. More than once he'd woken himself up with his screams, shaking in terror from the nightmares that refused to let him go. No one had bothered to look in on him, to see if he were still alive. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. They wouldn't have to see just how much they were succeeding, how much he cringed every time he heard them do their work.

John still refused to talk. Though it was getting harder and harder to stay silent the longer the sounds floated into his room. And he knew that was the whole point. If they couldn't break him down physically, they would do it psychologically. He _knew_ this and yet there was nothing he could do. Talking would mean signing the death warrants of those he'd promised to protect. Staying silent would mean slowly having his mental barriers torn down by the sounds outside. Either way he was screwed. Death honestly was the only answer and even that wasn't an option. The mercenaries had made certain of that. The only thing he could do was survive, to find it somehow in him to stay strong and not just give in because he could no longer handle what had been thrown at him.

As each day passed, he was honestly starting to rethink his position. He had gotten probably three or so hours of sleep tops each night, the constant sounds of torture mixed with his own nightmares keeping him up. Each sound he heard had him on edge. Every time someone walked past the door he immediately moved away from the door, huddling in the corner until he felt it was safe enough for him to return to his bed. John finally saw the face of the man who had been bringing him food, having refused to sleep for any length of time unless he knew for certain the nightmares wouldn't plague him. They exchanged no words, not even a simple thanks. The only person he'd decided he would talk to was Barsad, the mercenary that had up and disappeared on him. Something about that man made him forget, momentarily, just what he'd been through. But even that comfort had been taken from him.

When would they just give up on him and give him the one thing he wanted? When would they decide that he wasn't going to give in, that they would be better off putting an end to it all?


	5. Chapter 5

Time had started to become immeasurable. Had five days passed? Or had six or seven or even eight or nine? Maybe it had been longer, John wasn't even sure. At first, he'd tried to keep track of the days, of how many had passed. But without access to the sun, to the outside world, he had no idea if a month had passed or just a few days. What was the point of keeping track of time when it was only more proof of how hopeless he situation was? There wasn't one. He just had to keep telling himself that the longer he held out, the more likely they were to give him what he desired – to be free of the hell they'd decided to put him in. It was just getting harder and harder to cling on to that sort of hope. He needed to, though. Far too many people were depending on his survival.

Sleep was also becoming non-existent. He tried, curling up on himself in the cot in an attempt to drown out the sounds, the pleas and the cries. Each time he closed his eyes the nightmares that had plagued him flashed behind his lids. John could feel Bane's fingers poke and prod at the wound, could feel the pressure each one applied to those points on his body with enough precision to inflict the greatest amount of pain, and he could feel the way his hand wrapped around his throat and choked off his air. The last bit hadn't happened during their actual sessions, but each night something new and terrifying was added to his nightmares. And each one seemed to be worse than the one before it.

One night his mind had vividly shown Bane cutting and carving out his body, applying small amounts of salt to the open wounds in an attempt to get him to give up the others. Another night he'd been shown his own body covered in some sort of paste and left for the sewer rats. He remembered feeling their teeth gnawing at his body, feeling his flesh being torn off his limbs and the blood dripping down his body as they used him for their meal. That night he'd not only woken up screaming but shaking in pure terror. It was also the first night he'd been unable to go back to sleep. After that he only slept in the briefest of moments, not even certain if he had truly slept as he felt worse than when he'd drifted off.

That night was also the first time he'd forgone sleeping on the cot, preferring to curl up in the dark corner where no one could see him. John had hoped that the pure darkness would allow his mind some sort of comfort. Instead it seemed to only feed the fear, and his nightmares had become ten times worse. It was also when he'd started to forget just what played out in his head, only remembering the fear and pain it brought. Maybe that was a good thing; not being able to remember the images that plagued his thoughts. At least without the memory, he could focus on something else. The fear – it wasn't something he could easily dismiss. The littlest of things would set it off, have him huddled in the corner until it passed. He hated how weak he'd become and as much as he wanted to channel it into anger at Bane and his men, he couldn't. Fear had gripped him to the point of being unable to feel anything else. And that was when they'd decided to strike.

Once again he'd decided to curl up in the corner, hoping in vain that he would be able to get some sort of sleep when the door to his room had been thrown open. John wasn't even certain if his nightmares had finally decided to plague him during the waking hours or if they'd finally decided to kill him. The men moved too fast, his own reflexes considerably slower thanks to the lack of sleep. He couldn't even defend himself, only throwing his hands up at the last minute when they charged over to his position and grabbed him by his wrists, yanking him from his spot. What little light was quickly extinguished as they had decided to throw some sort of covering over his face. A hood of some sort, it seemed; something that felt rough against his skin.

And then came the pain. He hadn't noticed it at first, the panic having taken over his body completely. But it soon started to trickle in, his brain finally registering the fact that the men who'd entered his room were now kicking him, talking to him in some strange language. And all he could do was try to to protect himself the only way he knew how – curling up on himself. It didn't work. If anything, it seemed to spur the men on as their kicks became more frequent. It was starting to become harder and harder for him to breathe and _that_ was when they'd decided to stop. Maybe it had been a dream, maybe the sleep deprivation had finally taken hold and he could no longer distinguish between what was real and what some sort of bizarre dream. Maybe he was just one more step closer to the freedom he'd been yearning for. People eventually died from sleep deprivation, didn't they?

John wasn't even given the chance to find out. The instant they'd stopped their attack, they'd grabbed his arms and started to drag him out of the room. He wanted to fight, wanted to show them they hadn't destroyed the man he'd been when he first woke up to the sight of Bane. But he couldn't. There was just nothing left in him to give. Lack of sleep was the main reason. But there was also the lack of hope. No one knew he was down in the sewers, no one was bound to know that the mercenaries had taken him hostage. And if no one knew, that meant they could keep him for however long they wanted and no one would even care. It had been infuriating when he first thought about it. Now it was nothing but a depressing thought, something he could use when he thought it couldn't get any worse than it already was.

Things had definitely gotten worse. His feet were continually scrapping over the concrete walkways, the sound of water drowning out the words being spoken between the two mercenaries. John wasn't sure where they were taking him but he had a feeling it was to once again face Bane. The mercenary probably wanted to see his handiwork, to see if their prisoner had finally broken. He refused to let them see just how broken he was, needed to stay strong if he were to survive. When they dropped him on the ground, a part of him thought about making an attempt to run, to show them that their plan for him had failed. Only he didn't have it in him. There was just no more strength left in him to give. And then he felt them attach the chains to his wrist, felt his body being forced into an upright position, felt every ounce of breath being sucked out of him. Why wouldn't they just kill him and be done with it? Why drag this out?

"Did you think we had forgotten you, Blake," Bane asked. He had been kept up to date with everything they were doing to their prisoner, all the while their plan was continuing to move forward. It was all falling into place. With Gotham's saviour stuck in hell on earth, all that was left was to get the information out of their prisoner. If only the boy would actually give it up. It was commendable how strong and unmoving he had been. But there was a time and a place for everything. Now, it was nothing more than an annoyance that needed to be overcome. His tenacity needed to be broken, and lucky for them they had plenty of subjects they could use in the process.

"Did you think the information you have was no longer necessary," he taunted as he walked around the boy. Bane had already motioned for them to bring out one of the boys they'd decided to use in their latest attempt to break Blake. It had been easy to lure them down with the promise of good fortune. Once it had been decided to change their usage, it had been even easier to put them all together in a place where they could not escape. One by one they'd been lead out, and now they were down to a small handful. Enough to break their prisoner once and for all. Their actions had already been noticed, and grabbing more would do them no good. They would use what they had and move on to the next part of their plan.

He had seen it when they had dragged him out of the room. The effect of the first part of their plan. His actions spoke to a man that was on edge, every little sound had his body looking to move away from it and into itself. They were not actions of one who was willing to fight everything they did. It was a start. "Everyone breaks," he said as he grabbed Blake's jaw through the hood. "Including you." Bane had noticed the minuscule movement, the way the boy moved into the touch having flinched away at first. Yet another sign their plan was actually working.

"Names if you please, Blake."

John remained silent, refused to give up what the mercenary was asking for. His senses were hyper-aware now that his vision had been stripped of him. He could tell where Bane was walking, could hear his mechanical breaths, the water cascading in the background. And he still refused to give up the names. After everything they'd put him through – the constant torturing, the fact they'd made it impossible for him sleep leaving him at a point where he would have given almost anything to actually be able to do so – he still refused to give it up. But for how much longer? How much longer could he hold out before his own needs overcame his loyalty? Could he betray his friends, colleagues to stop his pain and suffering?

He was about to find out as he had heard them drag another body out, had heard the quiet-like pleas from the boy. Was it another of the boys from the orphanage? Or just someone that had stumbled upon their camp and had been pressed into work? John wasn't even certain he wanted to know. He could feel his body starting to react, the minute tremors racking his body. He couldn't take this. Not again, not so soon after the last round. His whole body was on edge, just wanting to get as far away from what he knew was about to happen. He wasn't even certain he could handle another round without snapping once and for all. There wasn't a corner for him to retreat to, his hands weren't even an option. The only thing he could find some sort of comfort in was his inability to see. Seeing would most certainly cause him to just give up everything he knew.

The first sound was a plea. Not to their captors, but to him. The voice was familiar, the images of one of the boys popping into his head at the sound. But how? No, it was a trick John told himself. He knew they would use anything they could to get him to talk. Using a familiar voice was something they'd already done, but this was the first time they'd addressed him personally. Again he told himself no, clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to ignore the fact that the pleas were getting louder and louder. What would Gordon have said had he actually given them up? Would he look at him like someone deserving of the promotion? Or would it be with disgust, unable to do something as simple as keep them all safe?

It wasn't a risk he could take, and insisted on keeping silent as the cries of desperation turned into those of pain. Each cry had his insides twisting, and his body desperately trying to find a way to retreat. John didn't want to hear any of it, didn't want to sit and listen as they had their fun at his expense. But neither would he give up the information. He was at a crossroads of sorts, and he knew it. It was either allow his sanity to snap, having listened to the torture for days on end, or to give up the information he knew and hope that they would give him a quick death. He had tried to hold on for as long as possible, but giving up seemed like such an easier option. No one would blame him for giving up, would they? No one would dare call him a coward, right?

The sound of bone snapping had him seriously contemplating just giving up right then and there. He had thought it was bad before, when the sounds of the torture were filtered to a degree. Having it right there in front of him, having the sounds so vivid and clear, John was more than ready to say enough. But the words refused to form. It was as if his whole body had seized up, unable to do anything other than hang there and accept its fate. And then there were the tears. He'd never cried a day in his life. Not when his father had been murdered, not when his mother had died. But now, he could feel something wet dripping down his face and he knew it wasn't sweat. It wasn't that warm in the sewers and it was the dead of winter outside. No, they had finally forced another crack in his armour and slowly the emotions he'd locked up were seeping out. And yet he still refused to give in.

He could hear the frustrations starting to come out in Bane. Even though his breathing was even, it was the way his footsteps on the ground were sounding like he'd placed more weight behind him that gave it away. Oddly enough, it gave him some sort of hope that he would once again survive this round. John couldn't ignore the way the boy was crying out in pain, the way it was more constant than intermittent. But he could at least cling on to the small bit of hope that his tenacity had finally won out over Bane's insistence. It shouldn't have made him feel better. Someone's demise shouldn't have made him feel better. He was better than this; he was supposed to stop this sort of thing, not take comfort in knowing that he may have won out.

And then he heard the sound of more bone snapping, the eerie silence where there had once been screams, and in his gut he knew what they'd done. Someone had stripped the hood from his face, and as he blinked his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light, he knew what he would see. It only took a few moments, and as his head drifted down, he saw it. The body of the young boy just laying on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring up at him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that while John survived that someone else had to die in his place. All because he refused to give up his friends, his colleagues. Even as he stared at the body, his body shaking from the sight, he still couldn't give in. All he could do was just watch and allow what little sanity he had left protect him from whatever they had planned next.

He didn't even notice when they'd lowered him to his feet, didn't notice them drag him back to the room. His mind had started to cocoon itself, protecting what little was left of himself in order to survive. When they left John on the floor of his room, he instinctively shuffled towards the corner and curled into as tight a ball as possible. He wasn't interested in food, wasn't interested in anything other than the possibility of sleep. Closing his eyes he wondered what he would see first – his own torture, or the lifeless eyes of the boy that had been dropped at his feet. He also couldn't forget Bane's words, that this boy's death was blood on _his_ hands and no one else. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Bane had murdered the boy, not him. He would not feel guilty for something the mercenary had done. He wouldn't.

It was something he was repeatedly telling himself as he tried to force sleep to embrace him. He hadn't even heard the sound of the door opening, the sound of someone coming in and kneeling in front of him, the feeling of someone placing their hand on his shoulder, gently calling out his name. Raising his head up, the only thing he could think of saying was, "Barsad?"


	6. Chapter 6

Barsad knew the instant he saw Blake in his room just how much damage had been done. The boy who had spent their two short days together on the cot had moved to the darkest corner of the room. Instead of the defiance that had been present, he saw fear. Every little movement, every sound, every shadow seemed to set the other off. Including a gesture he'd meant to be comforting. He had warned Bane that this was possible, that they may end up breaking him beyond the point of repair. But his brother had told him that it needed to be done, that if they were to have any hope of getting the information they needed that this was the road they were to take. He could only nod in agreement, knowing that his brother was correct. The long term plans were his brother and sister's strengths. He was only there to provide a certain amount of insight.

He had spent the rest of the night coaxing Blake from the corner, trying to keep him from retreating further into his own head. Barsad knew the boy hadn't eaten much. While he'd spent most of his time out and about in Gotham, he'd received similar updates as his brother. The boy had refused to eat more than he felt necessary, never spoke, and the only sounds they ever heard were his screams at night. It was something he'd relayed to their sister, having met with her in secret to see if she had anything she wanted him to relay back to their brother. She had told him that all was going according to plan and to continue with their treatment of Blake, as she had yet to truly find where the others of the resistance were hiding. If they could be found they could be taken care of before the bomb went off, a show of force to anyone else thinking that they could actually stop what had already been put into motion.

Information was the name of the game. It was something he was having to remind himself of more and more lately. He had not gone soft on Blake. The boy was nothing more than a tool, a means to an end, and it was his job to coax whatever he could from him. Then why was he finding it harder and harder to watch what his brother was doing? Barsad had never had a problem watching while his brother worked. If anything, it was a sight to behold – watching the muscles beneath his skin work in tandem with his mind. But this seemed a bit much. Even for the League's standards. Maybe his brother had truly forgotten what they were doing, the goals they were trying to reach, and had somehow lost himself in the singular goal of extracting information from Blake. Maybe it was time to remind him of just what they were doing, that even without the information they could still succeed.

"You need to eat, little one," Barsad said once again, offering up the small bowl towards Blake in an attempt to coax the other into eating. Blake had all but refused all of his previous attempts, and even now he thought the other would refuse it. But he refused to give up. Eventually hunger would win out, and when it did he would consider it a small victory.

"Why," John asked in return, his voice still rough after having used it only to release his internal torment. What did it matter whether or not he ate. What did it matter whether or not he just allowed himself to whither away into nothing at all. They weren't going to let him die, and he refused to give them what they wanted. If he wanted any of this to end, it was going to have to be on his terms and not theirs.

"Because the alternative isn't something you wish to find out," Barsad told him, no hint of amusement or anything else in his voice. Those who refused to eat were forced to using less than pleasant methods, ones he'd come up with after seeing another prisoner take the same path Blake was. If necessary, he would use them on the boy. But he would prefer it if he actually decided to eat of his own accord and not because he was forced to.

After everything John had been though, the last thing he wanted was to find out just what those _other_ methods would be. He wasn't even certain he could actually eat, given what he'd witnessed earlier. The sight was burned in his head, the images playing back each time he closed his eyes. Each time it played back he felt his insides twist and his stomach tried to purge what little food he had been able to keep down. Maybe it was time to try again. He had noticed that Barsad brought something different than the gruel they'd been feeding him before. It looked akin to some sort of soup, something that was bound to be easier on his already unsettled stomach. And what harm would it do to accept a small peace offering from the mercenary?

"Okay," he conceded, taking the proffered bowl from Barsad's outstretched hand. It wasn't the sort of battle they needed to engage in. John had felt his stomach lurch at the thought of food, had even threatened to forcefully purge itself of nothing more than the bile that he'd been tasting. But feeling Barsad's hand on his knee, looking up to seeing the mercenary nodding towards the bowl with the barest of smiles had him a bit more confident in his ability to actually keep this down and not immediately retch. And if he could keep it down, he knew he might actually be able to eat just a bit more the next time it was offered.

The rest of the meal was eaten in relative silence. Barsad had nothing to say, and John wasn't about to say anything that might be misconstrued as him handing over the information he'd locked away. He hadn't forgotten what they were trying to do. After all the time he'd spent alone, after having to listen to days upon days of torture they decide to send someone in, a friendly face sort to speak, in order to coax information from him. They may have put a large dent into his armour, they may have brought him close to his snapping point, but they hadn't broken him. It would take much more than a friendly face, a comforting action, a soothing voice for him to just turn over the information they'd been trying to pry from him.

"Where did you go," John asked, his curiosity having finally gotten the better of him. The laugh he received in return had him scowling and dropping his eyes back down towards the ground. It hadn't been that funny. At least he hadn't thought so. It was nothing more than a simple question, something piqued by his curiosity. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth, and his questions, to himself.

"You think my only job is to watch you?" Again Barsad laughed, knowing if Blake knew the whole truth he would probably retreat even further. In the few short hours they'd been in the same room, he had finally gotten the boy to actually come out of his shell some. More so than he would have thought. It was quite a fine balance he'd established between them, and a part of him did feel bad for what would happen once Blake had finally fallen asleep. But it had to be done. Even if he had reached a point where he felt it did more harm than good.

"I do have other things that require my attention, little one," Barsad teased as he reached over and tussled his hair. When his brother had left to escort Bruce Wayne to the pit, it had been his job to make certain everything was moving forward. Now that their largest obstacle was out of the way, they could concentrate on what they'd returned to Gotham for – cleansing it of the corruption. Something that should have been done years ago. "You should rest, though. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had forgone not only food but rest as well.

"I don't need you – " John wasn't even able to complete his train of thought as the warning glare sent from Barsad silenced it. Maybe the mercenary was right. Maybe he had forgone sleep and food. But why did he care? It was just a ploy, a ruse to get him to reveal the location of the others. Wasn't it? His sleep addled brain couldn't keep straight what he thought he knew, and what he actually knew. And trying to figure out if Barsad actually meant what he said or if he was just being nice for their game had his head spinning. Instead he decided to take up the mercenary's offer and crawled into the cot, surprised when Barsad started to card his hand through his hair, shocked even when he found his eyes fighting to stay open and the edges of his vision starting to go black.

Once Blake's eyes shut, once his breathing evened out and he knew for certain the other was asleep, Barsad went to his work bench and started work on the next batch of chemicals. He would only need a couple hours at most before alerting the guards that it was time to drag the boy out of bed. Lulling him into a false sense of security had been easy. Dealing with the twinge of guilt that kept biting at the edge of his thoughts, on the other had, was much harder to deal with. Why was it so much harder for him to keep the distance between himself and Blake? All the others had been relatively easy. But not this boy. Blake had him remembering the early days between himself, Bane and their sister, Talia; when they'd spend nights together asleep in one bed to share warmth and stave off the cold. And those memories, along with the boy, were going to end up being the death of him.

The small clock he'd kept nearby indicated more than the allotted hours had passed. Barsad had become consumed by his thoughts, the memories, that he'd allowed more time to pass than they'd agreed on. Though, if the fact that Blake had yet to wake was anything to go by it wasn't something that would be a problem. If anything the fact he was still asleep would play into their hands. He wouldn't expect them to come for him again, wouldn't expect them to drag him back into the open. Again he felt the guilt pulling at his conscience, and again he ignored it. A means to an end he told himself as he grabbed the vials from an earlier batch. Once his brother was done with Blake, he would need attending to. Most likely he would need to have the chemicals replaced, and given some time to actually eat. And then they could talk about what would need to be done if they couldn't get the boy to break.

But that was something he could think about later. Now was not the time for such things and nodding to the guards who were standing just outside the door, Barsad slipped into the shadows and to a location where he could watch the goings on without being spotted. He only watched the proceedings when he felt like Bane could get into trouble and be unable to get out of it. As comforting as it was to watch his brother fight, the torture proceedings had started to sour his stomach. Especially those involving Blake. Something he would never admit to. Not to himself, and definitely not to Bane. It was what it was and there was no point in trying to change it. Not even knowing that Blake would pull away from him if the weakened cries were any indication.

John's mind immediately went to Barsad the instant it recognized a pressure on his shoulder. He figured the mercenary had decided he needed more food and was attempting to wake him up. When that same pressure dragged him off the bed, when another presence was actually felt, he knew exactly what was going on. The bastard had put him to sleep, allowed him some form of comfort so he wouldn't expect anything. He wanted to be mad, wanted to yell and scream and demand to know _why_. He'd even tried to call out for Barsad, thinking that maybe the other would help him. But between the fact he was exhausted and his body trying to protect itself from what it knew was going to happen, he could do nothing more than allow them to drag him along. There was no more fight left in his body. He wasn't about to give up what he knew, but neither was he going to fight them. They'd won to a certain degree. Now, he was just going through the motions in an attempt to appease them.

They dropped him in the same spot they had previously, and again he thought about just getting up and making a run for it. Surely they would kill him for attempting to escape. And that would be better than what they were currently doing. Anything would be better than the mind games, having to listen and watch them torture people for the hell of it, to have some feign an odd friendship. John didn't want to die, but neither did he want to live in the hell the mercenaries had put him through. He was stuck. Literally and metaphorically speaking, as he had felt them place the chains on his wrists and hoist him up. What more did they think they could do to him? Did they think forcing him to watch as they tortured another boy was going to make him give up what he hadn't every other time they'd tried?

"Look," Bane ordered as he roughly gripped the man's jaw, forcing it up and towards their latest victim. For the briefest of instants, he noticed the flicker of defiance in Blake's eyes, noticed the way his body craved the touch, even something as rough as his own. The boy's body had tried to lean into the touch, instead of forcing it away like it had early on. It was a step in the right direction, and one he hoped would only grow after this session. "So much blood on your hands already. Is your perseverance really worth it? Are you willing to watch one of your own die?"

John's eyes flickered between the mercenary, Bane, and the man on his knees in front of him. He recognized the man. Not from the orphanage, but from the precinct. They'd talked on occasion, and sometimes they had even been assigned to ride together. Seeing him there, on his knees like the prisoner he was, had caught him off-guard. No wonder they had decided to grab him so soon. Were it just another orphan there would be no need. But another cop? He wasn't even sure how to react. And from the looks of the other man, neither did he. He had no idea what rumours or truths were being said about him. Maybe people thought he'd died trying to get the commissioner and the others out after Bane had found them. Or maybe they thought he'd escaped, even though that seemed like the least possible scenario. Seeing him held captive probably wasn't something anyone could have expected. And maybe that was for the best.

"Names, officer, if you please," Bane demanded, waiting only moments before nodding to the men holding the officer back. He could fee Blake trying to fight against his hand, try to turn his head away so he didn't have to watch as they broke the man's fingers one by one. When that didn't work, he ordered them to break the man's arms, the sound of each man's screams oddly soothing to his ears. "Had enough of this? Or would you like the blood of one of your own on your hands as well?" The defiance shown in Blake's eyes were enough of an answer for him, and with a simple nod of his head, watched as they snapped his neck and allowed the body to fall free. It was then that Blake tried to struggle in earnest, and turning towards him, left him with the same words he'd left the last time, "his blood is on _your_ hands. Tell us what you know and it will all stop."

John couldn't breathe, couldn't even think about what had just happened in front of him. Bane's words were still echoing around inside of his head, and as they dragged him back to the room that had become his cell, he wasn't even sure that what he'd seen had been real. Maybe it had been a dream, or even a nightmare. Surely it couldn't have been real. Real would mean he'd watched someone he knew actually die in front of him. Real would mean he had _allowed_ someone to die.


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken a few hours, lots of coaxing, and even some yelling before Blake was calm enough to be left alone. Barsad hadn't blamed him for the accusations thrown his direction. He had played a part in making certain that he wouldn't have been prepared for their actions. He'd also told the boy that all he needed to do was give up the information and it would all end. The laugh he got in return sounded odd to his ears, like it was forced in an attempt to cover up whatever else he was feeling at the time. Barsad had meant it, even if the other didn't believe him. But now he needed to meet with his brother, to not only discuss what was next but offer Bane a chance at a meal and the changing of his medication. Dealing with Blake could wait until that was settled.

Of course, Bane wasn't interested in food, or anything else for that matter. Which was perfectly fine. Barsad knew them chemicals would recirculate for forty-eight hours before they started to lose their potency. Having only changed them the night before, they still had plenty of time before it would need to be addressed. What bothered him more was the frustration that came off of his brother in waves. He had felt it the instant he entered the room. Bane was normally a patient man, having grown up in the pit had taught him that and then some. And to an untrained eye, they would see no difference in the man than what had been there previously. But he had spent far too much time with his brother and sister, and had learned to read them both. Bane was frustrated that the plan he'd come up with was failing, and horribly at that. Were this something they had planned previously, he would have had the patience. But Blake had been a change to their plan and with no real idea how long it would take, frustration was only natural. Unfortunately, it also meant that more drastic measures would be taken. Ones that he knew were always a possibility, but had hoped would never come to fruition.

"We have tried things your way, brother," Bane told the other, frustrated with the fact that Blake had yet to give up the information they'd been desiring. Barsad had told him that this way would be the best, that they would eventually break the boy. If anything, they'd only toughed his resolves. It was time to do things his way, to show the boy that they weren't above taking drastic measures to get what they desired. "Now, we do things my way. Of course you will still be the one to take care of him, and any information you get you will pass along to me." All Barsad could do was nod in agreement before walking out. He knew exactly what his brother was planning on doing, and he would prefer spending the night out with the men in Gotham than waiting around to see just how his brother would break Blake. The odds were good that he would push the boy past the point where even he could bring him back. But that was not his decision. His way was no longer working. Which meant it was time to try something new. And for him to regain those parts of himself he had found himself giving away to Blake.

Bane watched as his brother, his loyal friend, walked out as if an extra weight had been added to his already lithe frame. The decision had been made. His brother did not have to like it, just accept that they would need far more extreme measures to break their prisoner. He already knew the boy craved some sort of attention, having left him alone for many days without any sort of contact. Now they just needed to turn it into something that would give them more power over him, something they could use to pry the information from him whether or not he wanted them to. But how? The boy was obstinate, too much for his own good. And the fire – The fire was the way to get through to him, Bane mused as he stoked the small one he'd made in his own quarters. It reminded him of a lesson he'd learned long ago.

It was one thing to have the fire within ones self. But without proper guidance, without proper training, the fire tended to grow out of control. To allow something like that out into the world would be a dangerous thing. It needed to be cultivated, to be harnessed and released only when one knew how to properly control it. Blake had the fire within him but it was out of control, flaring up only when one pushed him to that point. It needed to be tempered, he needed to be shown how to control it. But to do that he needed to be broken first. Bruce Wayne had broken almost too easily. John Blake, on the other hand, had yet to truly do so. Tonight that would all change, and he would break him once and for all. And after that? After that, he and Barsad would take turns showing him, moulding him, teaching him just what could be done with the fire that burned so brightly in him.

Leaving the room he'd commandeered when they'd first arrived, he marched towards the room where Blake was being kept. It had been a long time since he'd been intimate with someone, sex being something he did not need a lot of to survive. Even though this was nothing more than a new interrogation technique, technically it was still sex. Barsad was the last, and only person he trusted enough to be that close with. It had also been that way with their sister, and would have been if she were with them. But she was not. She was out in the city doing her part of the plan just like he was about to do his part. The information Blake had was worth whatever short-term damage would be done to his body and psyche.

Nodding to the two men who were outside of the room, effectively dismissing them, he waited until they had left before he entered the room and shut the door behind him. There was no need for anyone to stick around, as Bane was quite certain in his current state Blake could do him no harm. He could, of course, try. But there was no point as they had worn him to the point that he could no longer fight them. There had also been the fact that his body craved any sort of attention. Even though it had tensed upon hearing his footsteps. It was to be expected, and was exactly what he had hoped for. If he were tense it would make it all the easier for him to break whatever hold he had left. And once that was broken Bane was certain the information they were desiring would flow just as freely.

He stormed to the corner, the one he'd heard the boy had taken to sleeping in and yanked him up by the front of his shirt. Bane could see the bit of resistance in his eyes, mixed in with the fear of coming face to face with his torturer. Even as they were, his body still desired some sort of touch and curved ever so slightly as his hands flew up to grip his wrists in an attempt to pry them away. This was the fight he wanted, this was what he needed to see to make certain they hadn't destroyed him completely. Now that he had the proof he needed, he dragged the boy from his corner and threw him face down onto the bed. Bane made certain the restraints wouldn't give him a chance to escape before he settled on the bed, his knees on either side of the boy's legs.

"You think that your impudence will protect you," he said as he placed a firm hand in the middle of Blake's back to quiet his fight. "It does not. It makes you weak." With each word spoken, Bane could feel the boy struggle to unseat him. And with each attempt he applied more pressure to the spot on his back. Not enough to break it, but enough to temporarily quiet his struggles. "The fire that burns within you – you have no idea the power it holds, the strength it could give you were you to find a way to control it. I do. I know what can be done with it. A fire left with no guidance tends to become wild. With the right direction, it can be tamed."

John's eyes widened at the implications behind his words. The pressure applied to his back had been enough to still his movements but now that he knew just what Bane was intending he started to fight again, struggling against his restraints the best he could. He couldn't even fathom the multitude of images that were currently running through his head. There was no way he was about to do what he knew in his gut was going to happen. The physical torture, the psychological as well, he could have handled. He had handled it and had survived longer than he thought he would. But this? This couldn't be happening. Not at the hands of some mercenary, not for doing something he knew to be right. The mercenaries had never played fair but this seemed even low for what they would have considered doing.

Feeling the mercenary's hands roughly strip him of his pants followed by the sound of the clasp from the other's pants was yet another confirmation of just what was going to happen. John tugged furiously against the restraints, tried to buck up against the mercenary above him. It was futile as Bane roughly forced him to his knees, spreading them apart in the process. Crying out wasn't going to do him any good as the mercenary seemed determined to break what little spirit he had left. In his position there was no way for him to fight back. The restraints on his wrist kept him off-balance, meaning most of the weight was on his knees. Even if he wanted to do something he couldn't. But neither could he just accept the fact that Bane was about to rape him, either.

Again he tugged furiously at his restraints, hoping against hope that they might finally pull free. Nothing. Nothing would give, and feeling the hands on his ass, pulling him apart he fervently started to yank at the chains, to move his body as far away as possible. John couldn't do it. One moment he was struggling the best he could, the next he felt like he was being split in half from the inside out. There were no words to describe the pain that lit his body, the fact there was no preparation and Bane was unmercifully shoving himself into him. He could feel the instant his insides had ripped, could feel the blood and other fluids mix inside of him, could feel the trickle of tears flowing down his face. He had held up for so long only to break under some monster's misguided attempts at controlling him. He wasn't even sure how long it went on for. The grip on his hips became tighter and tighter, yet another reminder he would have during his imprisonment, and his movements were still unrelenting; to the point he felt himself tear even more.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he had felt himself growing hard. John didn't even want to think about what that meant. He wasn't enjoying this, he didn't want to enjoy it. It was painful, degrading even. All he wanted was for it to end, for them to just let him die and take his information to the grave with him. They wouldn't, though, and as Bane continued to thrust into him, his own blood being used as a lubricant, John could only hope that he was almost done. If not, maybe death from a sexual act wouldn't be such a bad way to go. At least then he wouldn't have to endure the embarrassment at his body's betrayal, the smug look from Bane at knowing he'd finally won, or the whispers that were bound to start, the ones saying he was now Bane's bitch. Death would have been preferable to that.

With a grunt, and one last thrust of his hips, John felt Bane's orgasm fill him and his shame only grew as his own body was still waiting for its own completion. At least it was done. He felt the other man pull out, felt the blood and cum dribble down the backs of his legs before he decided to just give in and slump down onto the bed. The sound of Bane putting himself back together was only a vague thought as he tried to deal with what had just happened. If he thought he'd been numb before, when they had killed one of his fellow officers in front of him, it was nothing compared to the empty feeling he had right then. It happened. He'd allowed Bane to rape him and no matter how hard he fought, he'd allowed it to happen. What sort of person did that make him? Had the information been worth being degraded as he had? Would anyone know or even care that he'd went through hell to protect them?

At the sound of the door being slammed shut, he crawled off the bed and into the corner that he'd been using to sleep. John barely had the strength to move, but somehow he found enough to pull his pants up before curling up and digesting the fact that the monster of Gotham had had his way with him. The images that flashed were worse than before. The nightmares that had been tinted with all the possible tortures they could put him through were now mixed with Bane taking him over and over again until he was broken. There was no possible way he was going to sleep. Not that night, and quite possibly not for a very long time. At least not until his body finally shut down on him. His mind was already starting to, and it was only a matter of time before his body did, too. There was nothing left for him to do other than just stare into space, ignoring the passage of time, the fact that his ass hurt, his body hurt, or the fact that someone had come to check in on him. None of it honestly mattered. They'd won. They'd broken what was left of him.

The next morning Barsad returned earlier than he'd planned. Between the cold, and having accidentally toppled off from the small landing he'd been using to watch for anyone walking the city at night, he was more than ready to tend to his wounds in private instead of with the men who found it amusing that the sniper couldn't even keep himself on a simple ledge. His excuse had been simple – the weather had caused it to be slicker than usual, and he dared any of them to tell him otherwise. Back in the sewers it was relatively warm and the likelihood of him falling from a perch was less than out in the city. He also needed to work on the next back of chemicals for his brother and check on Blake. Though the latter would probably take a slight prevalence over the former.

As he entered his room, he noticed Blake was nowhere to be found. Barsad remembered finding the man asleep in the one corner, curled up in a ball like some sort of animal, and figured he had once again decided to corner was safer than the cot he'd offered him the night before. Eventually he would coax the man back onto the cot like a normal human being, but for the time being he was perfectly fine sleeping in the corner. It would allow him to work on what he needed to do for his brother without any sort of interruption. Not that he minded having Blake stare at him in utter silence. It was just easier when he could focus everything on the task at hand and not have to worry about whether or not he needed to entertain the other.

It was when his first batch was almost done that his ears picked up on the sounds that seemed to be coming from the room. They weren't very loud, and weren't the animal sounds he'd heard when they first found the place. But they were definitely coming from inside the room. Barsad cocked his head in an attempt to pinpoint the exact location. It was far easier than he thought it would be. Though being inside, anything would have been easier than trying to find the location of such a sound while outside. When the noise came again, his eyes locked onto the corner, the one he associated with the boy, and he hopped off the chair and walked towards the corner. As he got closer to the sound, he realized that it wasn't just anyone but Blake, curled up and muttering something about a restaurant and meetings and the people they were looking for. While it was the information they were looking for, it wasn't how he had hoped to of gotten it.

"Shh, little one," he said as he knelt and placed a hand on the other's arm, gently rolling him over towards his back. The muttering didn't stop. If anything Blake seemed to be spewing out even more information, things he probably wasn't even conscious of doing. "Blake – " When the other's eyes refused to even focus on his words, Barsad took a closer look and noticed the glazed over appearance to them, as well as a slight sheen to his face. Taking his other hand he pressed the back of it to the boy's forehead and felt the heat coming from him. He cursed, knowing that somehow he'd gotten an infection and was now going to need far more attention than he had when he'd dug the bullet from him. Not that he minded. It just meant that his brother would need to be told.

Barsad wrestled Blake from the floor and situated him the best he could on the cot. Each time he tried to roll the other onto his back, he fought back and rolled back over onto his side. Sighing, he knew what that meant and the treatment that it would take. As limited as supplies were, he knew he could get what was needed for the boy with very little problem. Keeping him warm, on the other hand, was something they would need to figure out. His own room was further into the sewers and much colder than the other areas. But it was the one place where the others wouldn't dare enter. Not unless they wanted to find themselves missing digits or preferred a few new scars to go along with whatever ones they already had. But it wouldn't do for someone in Blake's condition,

With nothing more than a shake of his head, Barsad left the room and made his way towards where Bane normally stayed when he wasn't out in the city. He knew he needed to pass along the information from Blake's feverish ramblings, but he also needed to let him know that he would need to allow the boy some sort of rest if they didn't want him to die. If he were honest, Barsad wasn't too keen on the idea of yet another dead body being dumped into the outflows. More specifically, he wasn't too keen on having Blake dumped into the outflows. Something about him had struck the odd chord, and seeing him after his time with his brother only seemed to strengthen that feeling. Maybe he'd grown soft for the boy. Or maybe it was the fact that he reminded him of their sister. It didn't matter what he felt. The boy was information and nothing more, and as he entered the room that his brother used reminded himself of just that.

"I have something for you, brother," Barsad said, watching the other man as he hovered over the small fire. If he didn't know any better he might have thought Bane actually felt some sort of guilt. It was a trick of the light, he told himself as his brother continued to stare at the ground.

"Speak."

"Blake has finally given up some of the information," Barsad explained, getting directly to the point. He told him about what the boy had said, trying to fill in the gaps with what little information he knew about the city. It seemed to please his brother, and he watched as his shoulders and posture relaxed only so slightly. They had spent far too much time trying to extract it from him, and now that they had it, it was now a matter of deciding just what to do with him. They could just let him go, allow the combination of the weather and his infection do what they couldn't. Or they could keep him around, take care of him, make certain he survived his current infection and find a way of training him to help out their cause. Barsad knew which he would prefer. But the choice was Bane's.

"And the boy? How is he?"

His brother's questions, the way he asked with a softer tone to his voice, had Barsad concerned. This was very unlike the man, and he wondered if maybe Blake hadn't had some sort of effect on him as well.

"Sick," he explained, stepping closer to his brother and the fire he had made. "I need to go out into the city to gather a few things to make certain he lives." Barsad knew the other wouldn't have asked if he hadn't intended to keep Blake alive. Which meant the boy had somehow softened the man that was his brother. The image alone had the odd smile forming. His only comfort being that Bane could not see it.

"Go. I shall bring Blake back here so we both may look after him."


	8. Chapter 8

Like he had suspected, the medications were the easiest for him to acquire. No one dared question his actions. Not when he brought some of the others with him. Barsad knew on his own he wasn't all that intimidating, his lithe body giving the misconception that he was an easy target to bring down. He was a sniper, better from a distance than up close. But with a small group of the others, he could get what he needed without anyone ever questioning him. Getting said drugs into Blake, on the other hand, had provided more of a struggle than either one of them would have thought of. Especially as the boy was already weakened from his stay. Somehow they managed to get them into the other. Even if it meant using Bane's weight advantage to do so.

The first few nights had been the worst as they'd had taken to sleeping on the floor, Blake sandwiched between the two of them in an attempt to keep him warm. It reminded Barsad of the times when their sister had gotten sick, or when it was cold out and they'd decided that sharing their body heat was better than trying to keep themselves warm on their own. He could see the same look on his brother, the one that said he knew this was nothing more than consolidating body heat to keep them warm. It was far more than that, though. Barsad had noticed the way his brother gently situated Blake so that he was resting against his chest, the way his arm gently rested across the man's middle in an attempt to protect them both from the fever induced thrashing. Somehow Blake had affected them both. More than either of them would ever willingly admit.

Then one morning, Barsad wasn't sure of the time only that the only sounds he could hear were that of his brothers sleeping beside him, he noticed a slight change in Blake. The fever still had him in its grips but he'd finally stopped the persistent shivering that punctuated the previous night. "Blake," he whispered, waiting to see if the other would not only recognize his voice but find a way to respond and let them both know that he was still somewhere in there, underneath all of the fog. Bane had also woken up, his eyes focusing on his brother while his body listened for any movement that might indicate Blake was still alive and well between them. No words would ever be exchanged between them, the acts of the previous night not only understood but necessary. And this was nothing more than keeping a prisoner alive. Even if somewhere Bane was reminded of Talia.

"Barsad," came a weakened reply. It was cold. Far too cold for John to think straight, and his body kept shivering in an attempt to warm itself. But somehow he'd heard his name through the fog, and as his eyes fluttered open found himself face to face with the mercenary who'd left him to the others. He wanted to be mad, wanted to be upset for being left alone and vulnerable, wanted to ask him why he hadn't just let him die when he'd had the chance. The light pressure against his chest, drawing some sort of patterns, was far too soothing for him to argue against. So was the warmth. And he was still exhausted. Like he could have slept for days on end if given the chance. Which sounded so very tempting.

"So you are still there, little one," Barsad teased as he brushed some of the hair off of his face. The glazed over look to his eyes was still there, but it wasn't as prominent as before. A good sign, and one that meant that Blake would most likely make it. With just a little bit of help, of course. "Sleep. And when you wake again we'll see about getting some sort of food into you."

John didn't even have the energy to nod his response, only allowing the warmth and the comfort he felt drag him back into sleep. He was far too tired and weak to make any sort of argument, or to figure out that it wasn't Barsad providing all of the extra warmth. It was something he could figure out later. When he wasn't fighting his own desire to stay awake. It was just easier to give into the desire to sleep, and without even hesitating, allowed himself to fall back into the dark, the soothing pressure on his chest the last thing he remembered.

It was the sound of footsteps that dragged him momentarily from his sleep, his eyes opening only long enough to see what he assumed was Barsad kneeling over what looked like a small fire. He was still exhausted and instead of forcing himself to stay awake he fell back asleep, only waking again when he felt a presence in front of him. Again he forced his eyes open, and through the haze found himself looking at the one person he was supposed to be upset with. Except John didn't have it in him to be upset. Not yet at least. He was there, keeping him warm and taking care of him. Both of which he didn't have to do. Hadn't Barsad been the one to tell him he had other things to do besides babysit him? Or had it been just another finely crafted lie to keep him from thinking too much on the fact that the other actually enjoyed his company?

"Barsad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper thanks to its continued disuse. The sight that greeted him had his stomach in knots. John was upset with the other mercenary. Livid, actually. He knew their chats were nothing more than information gathering sessions, and somehow he'd found himself just enjoying the others presence. Maybe all he time spent alone had sped up the process, but he would have eventually considered Barsad something akin to a friend. A friend wouldn't have allowed what had happened to him to actually happen. A friend wouldn't have just abandoned him. He hated the conflicted emotions that were currently running through his head and seeing Barsad smile at him in a way only the mercenary could only made it worse.

"Good, you're awake," Barsad told him in return, watching as Blake's eyes had finally lost most of the haze and could actually focus on him. "There's the next dose of medication that you need to take. And if you're feeling up to it, you should try to eat something." John wasn't even sure he could eat something but he nodded, knowing that if he didn't at least try they might possibly force him to. At least that was the threat that he remembered Barsad giving him the last time he'd contemplated starving himself.

Watching as Barsad got up and walked out of his line of sight, he allowed his eyes to close. John wasn't going back to sleep, but the warmth from behind along with the same soothing pressure against his chest had him closing his eyes and soaking it all in. He'd never really been treated like this, being mothered, so he was determined to at least enjoy it while it lasted. He listened as Barsad puttered around, looking for whatever it was he was looking for. It shouldn't have been so relaxing, the way the hand around his chest just kept applying a gentle enough pressure so that he was comfortable. But it was, and when the mercenary knelt back beside him, John noticed that the movements continued. If it wasn't Barsad, it was –

"Blake, just relax," he told the boy as he watched the realization of just who was behind him come to light. Barsad also watched as his brother tightened his grip on Blake just a little bit more so that he wouldn't hurt either of them in the process of coming to terms with it all. "Shh little one. You're still sick, and all of this will only make you worse." John didn't care. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Bane and now Barsad. Again they'd tricked him, and now as weak as he was they basically had him where they'd wanted him – quite literally in their grips.

"I told you he's not the monster you seem to think he is," Barsad again told Blake, most likely in vain as the other continued his struggle. John didn't care what he had to say. It didn't matter. Bane had been the one to rape him, and now they were both doing what? Taking care of him out of some sort of obligation? Or had the guilt of it all finally hit them and they thought this was the best way to make it up to him? No. It didn't matter what they thought or were doing or why. What was done was done.

"Yes, he is," John managed to bark back, though there was no real bite to it. He refused to think of Bane as anything other than a monster, and as he swallowed the medication he'd been given, found his strength had been sapped to the point that all he wanted to do was sleep. His body had once again betrayed him by moving closer to Bane, and as his eyes closed, the last thing he remembered seeing was Barsad watching him with the saddest smile he'd ever seen. On anyone.

"One day, little brother," Barsad told him once his eyes had closed completely and his breathing evened out. He knew one day he would see Bane in the same light he had – someone who was willing to do things that no one else would. His brother wasn't a monster. And in time Blake would see that. Bane, on the other hand, was of a differing opinion. He was used to people seeing him as such. To hear the words come from the boy was nothing new to him.

"You think so, brother? That his opinion can be changed?" He asked, his words tinted with something he rarely used – hope. Blake reminded him of Talia, and if someone like Talia could be made to see him for what he was, he was certain a hardened cop could as well.

"Aye, I do," Barsad told him with confidence. He had hope that their little brother would come around and see things their way. It was just a matter of time. Something they had so little of. They should have moved to their above-ground headquarters by now. Should have done a lot more than they had. But with Blake being sick, and moving him too risky, they'd delayed it until the other was at least strong enough to be moved. Unfortunately, each delay only brought with it the likelihood of being caught, the likelihood of their plan failing. But for their little brother, and their plan, they would make certain they were all kept from being found out. Even if it meant spending a few extra days in the sewers. They had lived in far worse conditions.

With Blake in capable hands, Barsad returned to his own quarters to prepare not only the next batch of chemicals for his brother but for their eventual move. He knew Bane was more than capable of handling the boy. Though, Bane wasn't so certain of that. After what had happened to him the week previously, knowing he was the reason for their currently delay, taking care of Blake seemed like the worst possible thing. He was nothing like Talia, able to accept him for the monster he was. The only similarities they had between them were their desires to do something more than they were allocated in life. They both had a fire within them that refused to be extinguished. Talia had her father and the League to help mould hers into something of use. Blake had nothing and his attempt to break it into something manageable had failed. They would need to use what little time they had left to fix the damage he'd inflicted.

And to do that meant moving into their new headquarters. That night. Even if he had to carry the boy himself, Bane would do so. It was time to put the next part of their plan into motion. They'd already lured and trapped the police in a separate part of the sewers, and allowed the prisoners who'd been locked up unfairly thanks to the commissioner to run free. Crane seemed to be enjoying free reign in the courts, and with the new information he'd been given thanks to his brother, all they would need to do was track them down one by one and turn them over. Things had fallen into place. Just like they thought it would.

Realizing that Blake had woken, he stilled his movements to see just how the other would react. His brother had left him for a few hours, reminding him that they needed to use the other medication he'd found less they wanted the boy to get worse. Bane should have known his crafty brother would have left it for him to do, a reminder that they would need to move past his own frustrations if they were to show Blake the potential he had within him. Very rarely did he underestimate his second-in-command. The one time he had and the man decided to show him just what happened. Eventually he would return the _favour_.

"If you are awake, little bird, there is something unpleasant we must discuss," he said, feeling the anxiety and fear from Blake. John hated the fact that Bane knew when he wasn't completely asleep. He hated even more whatever it was he felt the need to discuss with him. They had nothing left to talk about. Other than when he was going to let him go. If it wasn't that then he was going to continue with his inability to talk. Though he was finding it harder and harder to fight back against them. His body seemed to relax at Bane's touch, and found other ways of betraying him. More than it already had. He also loathed himself for enjoying the warmth that came from being in the other's embrace, wanted to retch at how his body responded to the touching from earlier. It didn't seem fair.

"Talk or not, it does not change what needs to be done," Bane told him, wondering if that would get some sort of reaction. It did but not one he was expecting. John couldn't believe what he was hearing, didn't want to think that the mercenary would actually repeat the performance from that one night, and rolling onto his back gave Bane a look of defiance mixed with the only other feeling he had left – fear. He didn't want to think about the implications behind his words, or the fact that he was still sick and weak, and wouldn't be able to put up any sort of fight. Even worse, Barsad had left him knowing full good and well what happened the last time.

"Don't, please," John begged, cringing at how weak his own voice sounded to him. He was also confused by the crinkling of Bane's eyes at his words. It hadn't been funny. If anything, it was meant to convey how scared he was of what was about to happen. It shouldn't have surprised him that Bane thought it was humorous.

Reaching across Blake, he picked up the small tube and raised it so that the other could see it. While his words could have implied something else, Bane had meant them in an innocent manner. Not something he was used to thinking about. "See? Not what you were thinking, little bird," he teased as he watched the reaction of the boy. John, on the other hand, wasn't sure if he should be relieved or if he should still be terrified of the man. In his head he knew that the medication was to make certain he didn't get worse. But it had been left in Bane's hands and all he could think about was that one night.

Bane, though, didn't give him much of a choice. In a manner completely different from that night, he gently rolled him over onto his side and told him to remove his pants. John was still a bit hesitant until he felt the other's hands on his waist, a hint that if he didn't remove them he would do so. That was the last thing he wanted, and reluctantly he pushed his pants down past his knees to his ankles and kicked off one leg. Feeling his hand on his back had the memories flooding back and his whole body stiffened in response to what he knew was going to happen next. It was an automatic response, and not one he could just turn off like some sort of switch. Not even when he heard the words, "I am sorry for before, little bird. Allow me the opportunity to make up for my previous actions."

John felt his hand skirt lower and lower as his body tensed up even further. Bane's words did nothing to ease his fear and as his first finger was shoved in, he started to whimper in pain. Not even the mechanical soothing could make him feel any better. Between the burn of the intrusion, the burn and sequent cooling of the antibiotics, he wasn't even certain what to feel any more. And then his finger skated over something that sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, causing even his cock to respond. He wasn't even sure what it was, just that he was now more confused than he had been before. Especially as Bane seemed to have decided to constantly brush up against that one point, sending more jolts of pleasure through his body and making him almost painfully hard. The minute moans of pleasure weren't helping things either.

"I can help with that if you would like," Bane said, amused when the other was so easily startled. He had noticed Blake's reaction as he worked the medication around. He may have also took some enjoyment in it, as well. What had surprised him was the boy's reaction to it all. He had fought them at every step, and was to be commended for it. To have him change like this was an odd yet pleasant surprise. Even more so when he heard Blake agree, almost begging him to take care of his own body's reactions. "You're certain?" He again asked, before wrapping his arm around the boy and dragging him closer towards his chest.

John couldn't even talk, only nodding his head and canting his hips towards Bane's hand. It was humiliating to say the least. But it was either that or lay around and wait until his traitorous body decided to get back with the program. And if he were honest, getting off would put him back to sleep and allow his thoughts to just temporarily vanish. Which was better than dealing with the mounting guilt and the fact that he allowed the monster of Gotham to coddle him like some sort of sick child.

Having felt the roughness of Bane's hands during their interrogation sessions, John had expected the same roughness now. He might have even wanted it. But the mercenary was gentle, caring almost, in the way he wrapped his hand around his cick, the way he worked him slowly until he whined about not being able to take it any more and his hips kept thrusting into Bane's fist, the way he brought him to completion while ignoring his own needs. It should have been a quick and dirty act. Just like their first time together. Except it wasn't, and now along with the guilt he was starting to feel something else for Bane, something he didn't want to even accept. John was starting to feel okay with his presence. Underneath the anger, the ire and the feelings of guilt was acceptance of his situation.

Things could have been much worse, and as he felt his eyes starting to close, was grateful for the chance to sleep. He needed something to distract his thoughts from the possibility that this situation wasn't as bad as he initially thought it was. John knew he was their prisoner, but they kept calling him affectionate names and he wondered just what it would be like to be something more than a prisoner. Just a fleeting thought, but one nonetheless.

Once Bane was certain Blake had drifted off to sleep, he got up and went to the small wash room for something to clean them up with. Their actions wasn't something he had planned on but now that it had happened, he wondered if it could happen again. But not just with Blake, but with his brother as well. And just as he finished cleaning up the boy, it was his brother who entered the room. "We move tonight," he told Barsad as he stood back up and grabbed Barsad by the arm, leading him to the small wash room. Barsad had an idea as to what happened between Blake and his brother, and being dragged into the other room was all the proof he needed. It was a step in the right direction at least.

"And you will be the one who takes care of our little bird once we move," he told the other as he closed the door behind them.

"You mean like I take care of you, brother?" The cuff to the back of his head was all the answer Barsad needed. Bane had taken care of Blake and in return he would take care of him. If they had more time, he thought that one day they could eventually take care of each other.


	9. Chapter 9

It hadn't surprised John to find out that the mercenaries new headquarters happened to be in one of the nicer hotels in Gotham. After spending who knew how long in the sewers, it was a relief to actually have running hot water and some place warm to sleep. It was also nice to have a bit more freedom than before. Even if it was limited to the bedroom, bathroom and small living area attached to it. It did seem rather hypocritical of them to use such a place. Especially considering the plan they had put into place to rid the city of the corruption that was rife throughout it. But who was he to say anything? His opinion wasn't one they would actually listen to. He was nothing more than their prisoner. Though there was one thing they hadn't thought about. Or if they had had thought it insignificant.

Being above ground meant he had a greater chance of escaping, of finding the others and making certain they hadn't been killed by Crane's farce of a court. Being above ground meant he could accurately pinpoint the passage of time, use it to figure out just how much time they had before the bomb would go off. They'd inadvertently given John hope, and while they'd broken him, just a glimmer of hope was something he could hold onto. He could use the time he spent in bed, the time the others thought he was sleeping to figure out the best way to slip out of the building. There was no way to know just how many of the mercenaries were littered throughout the building but it was a risk he was willing to take to be free. But was it what he really wanted? Did he really want to be free of Bane, of Barsad?

Thoughts of them had a strange warmth blooming through his chest. The whole time he'd been in their captivity the only thing he'd wanted was to be free of them, and of the torture they'd inflicted upon him. Now John had been given an opportunity, more than he had been given before, and the thought of leaving scared him more than the thought of staying. Why? Why could he not just take what he'd been given and just leave? It wasn't Stockholm syndrome. He'd read about that when it was briefly mentioned at the academy, knew what all it entailed and would know if that was the case. It wasn't, though. He didn't sympathise with them, or even empathise. John wanted out, wanted to leave. He just – couldn't. What did that say about him? What would others think if they found out just what had happened?

And lately it had been Barsad taking care of him, making the uncomfortable act of having to deal with the second course of antibiotics quick and efficient. At first he'd thought about asking after Bane, trying to understand why he had left the task to Barsad. His shame, embarrassment and anger, though, kept him from doing anything more than engaging him in idle chit-chat. John didn't want to know why his thoughts drifted between the two mercenaries, why he missed the few times he'd woken up to being cocooned between them. They'd taken him prisoner, tortured him, _raped_ him and all he could think about was the bit of love and kindness they'd shown him. And yet he still refused to think he was suffering from some sort of Stockholm syndrome. He wasn't. He couldn't be.

"What has you deep in thought so early, little one," Barsad asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. John had felt the bed dip, followed by a hand on his shoulder, and the only answer he would give was a muttered nothing. That earned him another laugh, and he fought the smile that seemed to have formed. "You are a horrible liar, brother. Now up you get. Time to start your training as you've spent far too much time in bed." Training? John was confused by the offer as he hadn't honestly expected it. Just what were they planning? And why were they offering this if they were just going to end up killing him at some point?

"Our brother suggested it, as he refuses to allow you to mope all day," Barsad told him as he left the clothes on the end of the bed. He, too, had been taken aback by Bane's suggestion. Their little brother seemed to have gotten better once they'd moved out of the sewers and keeping his mind busy seemed like the next logical step. Having him offer to teach him some basic defensive moves hadn't been something he would have suggested as it gave the boy a way to escape if necessary. It was Bane who told him that their little bird wouldn't be escaping their cage any time soon. Barsad hadn't dared ask how he knew that; just accepted it and went to wake Blake to start on their first lesson.

"I do not mope," John muttered as he rolled out of bed and started to put on the change of clothes that the other had left on his bed. As he finished putting on the sweatpants, he heard the undignified snort from Barasad, and again he found himself fighting a smile. "Okay even if I do, and I'm not saying that, it's not like you've given me much choice. Still stuck here. Just have a better view." Of course, he wanted to ask Barsad about Bane, why he'd even offered such a thing when he wasn't anyone of importance. But he couldn't quite get the words to come forth. And it wasn't like it mattered. The reasons behind Bane's new found sympathy. The bomb would go off, they would all die, and whatever was between them would be nothing more than a memory.

"Come on, little one," Barsad said as the boy finished putting on the rest of the clothing. It was amusing to see just how much he had changed since that first day in the sewer. Blake was still the angry boy they'd kidnapped. But there was now a softness to it, and his words didn't hold the same bite as they had earlier. Maybe his brother was correct, maybe their little bird had finally accepted the temporary life they'd given him. They would soon find out. "We're going to the roof to train. Bit more space and you could use the fresh air." He'd noticed Blake fighting the smile that kept threatening to form, and ruffling his hair, he placed his hand on the small of his back and lead him through their room and out towards the stairs. It was a test, to see if Bane's words would ring true, or if they would need to lock up their little brother once again.

Once they'd stepped out of the room, John eyed the hallway, trying to decide if he had enough strength in him to make it to the far end and the stairs before Barsad or one of the others got to him. It was right there – freedom – and all he could do was allow the other man to guide him. If anything, the hand on his back was soothing, a comfort when faced with such a temptation. It was so confusing – he should be running, fighting against all of it. And he wasn't. He was accepting their kind words, their offers of fresh air and training. It _wasn't_ Stockholm syndrome. It wasn't. It couldn't be. And yet the more he fought the notion the less he started to believe it.

Barsad allowed Blake to eye the length of the hall, to calculate just what it would take to make it to the far end before one of the others grabbed him. He allowed him the taste of possible freedom as a test, to see if his brother's words would honestly ring true or if he would be right and they would need to find another way of keeping the boy from running off. Watching the wheels turn, waiting to feel the muscles underneath his hand coil up in an attempt to run, he was surprised to see that none of it actually happened, that Blake did nothing more but stand there and look down towards freedom longingly but without any of the desire to act upon the thoughts. Maybe his brother had been correct in his thinking. Maybe they'd finally gotten through to their little brother, and that they would soon have an ally in their fight.

"Come little one," he said as he guided Blake away from the temptation and to the stairs that would lead them to the roof. John could only look at Barsad with confusion, not even certain why he was allowing the other man to guide him away from freedom and towards the roof. Why hadn't he run? Why did he just stand there and look instead of running? He knew why. Deep down, he knew that he couldn't just leave Bane and Barsad. Even though they'd put him through hell, they'd also shown him kindness. More than some of the foster families he'd been with over the years. He didn't owe them anything, either, and he wasn't staying because of some obligation to do so. He was staying with them because he wanted to, and that just made everything more confusing.

"Training will serve a dual purpose," Barsad explained as they walked up the flight of stairs, and walked out onto the roof. "It'll give you the necessary tools to defend yourself, and it will take your mind off of other things." John looked at the other curiously, wondering why they were giving him the tools to escape. He was more than grateful for the chance to think about other things, but he couldn't quite understand why they would give him something they could use again them. Unless…

"Why did Bane really suggest you train me," he asked, his words taking on more of an accusatory tone than they usually did. "And don't say to keep me from moping around. You and I both know that's bullshit." Barsad knew it was something that would eventually come up. Maybe not quite so soon, but their little brother was adept at picking up the little things that other people weren't. His only question was whether or not he should tell Blake the truth, or just ignore the question. Bane said nothing about giving him the truth, just that they should work on his lack of fighting skills.

"That anger within you needs an outlet," he started to explain as he grabbed Blake's wrist and dragged him out onto the rooftop. Barsad was usually good with words, though this time it was better for him to show just what could be done with the proper training. "Our brother suggested I show you a few things first, and then he will add to your training." He didn't wait for the information to settle into Blake, instead dragging the other closer and tucking his foot behind one of Blake's, forcing him to the ground in the process. Most everyone assumed because of his size he was unable to defend himself. He didn't want his little brother to assume the same thing. Though judging by the look on Blake's face, he already had.

Staring up from the ground, unable to properly catch his breath, John was surprised at how quickly he'd been taken off of his feet. Especially when the person doing so looked like they could barely hold the sniper rifle he knew Barsad carried. His academy training should have prepared him for that. But he'd gotten lax. Not just in his defences, but in his ability to read people as well. Another side effect that could be blamed on his captivity, he thought has he ran a hand across his chest. He wasn't hurt. Other than his pride. John just wanted a moment to gather himself before getting back up again.

"You do that with everyone? Or was I a special case," he asked as he took Barsad's proffered hand in getting back up to his feet. The cuff to the back of his head, however, wasn't something he expected and glared at the other man in return.

"That was the point, little one," Barsad teased in return. He found Blake's glares far more amusing than threatening and knew it only served to frustrate the other even more. "One shouldn't assume that size equates an easier or more difficult opponent. Though, in your case… " It took all of a moment for the information to hit John, and when it did he charged after Barsad, once again ending up flat on his back on the ground. He wasn't small, he just loathed violence. Though he would make an exception for Barsad.

"Had enough, Blake? Or would you like to waste the rest of our time up here on foolish child's play," he asked as he watched the emotions move across the other's face like an open book. Barsad had hoped to spend the day working on some basics, maybe even get some of the kinks out of the boy. But it was looking like Blake had other ideas, ones he would not indulge. Their training was one thing he refused to take lightly. Whatever notions the other had, it wasn't going to turn into some sort of game. The boy was either going to be for it, or against it. And if he were against it, he would march him right back to his room. Though something told him their little brother was willing to accept their help. It was just the remnants of his pride that refused him to do so.

"Going to help me up or what, asshole," John muttered as he thrust his hand up into the air for help. It wasn't like he could control the fact he acted on impulse instead of thinking things through. He had found it far easier to react to certain situations than take the time to think about possible consequences. Maybe Barsad's offer would actually help him. If they all survived the bomb that was bound to be roaming the city. He still thought the offer was pointless, but having something else to think about and concentrate on was better than the alternative – focusing on everything that had happened to him since he'd been captured.

The rest of the morning and well into the afternoon was spent on his training, with John ending up on his backside far more often than he would have liked. His academy training had kicked in after a couple rounds, and that had helped. Barsad, though, was just a bit faster, his movements more fluid than his own. Once or twice he'd gotten lucky and landed a couple of blows. But more often than not, it was he who ended up on the receiving end. He knew he would have more than a few bruises the next day, along with sore muscles he didn't even realize he had. But it was a good thing. Getting out of the room, working with Barsad had him feeling better than he had in weeks. It was also one of the few times he allowed himself to smile; something Barsad had caught him doing, and ended up tousing he hair because of it.

It was only when they were through, and had paused in the hallway once again, did it hit John that not once during their training had he thought about escaping. Even then, as freedom was dangled in front of him once again, he couldn't see himself just up and leaving either man. "Would you stay with me for a bit," he asked, turning his attention back towards Barsad. It was the first time he'd asked, and would most likely be the last if the other decided he had better things to do. But at that moment the last thing he wanted was to be alone.

"For you little brother, of course," Barsad agreed, directing them back into the room and towards the only shower. It was an interesting request, one he knew would happen in time. It was also something that he would share with his other brother, knowing it would ease some of his guilt. "Shower first, and then we shall rest a bit before supper." Not that he was tired. But if their little bird needed some sort of comfort, he would at least spend part of the time with him before finding a way of extracting himself to work on other projects.


	10. Chapter 10

It was supposed to have been nothing more than a simple act of comfort, allowing the exhaustion clearly written over his brother's face to take him into its embrace. After showering himself, Barsad had no problem slipping into bed and allowing Blake to fall asleep curled into his chest. If anything, it was yet another sign that their little brother was accepting everything they were offering. It was a good sign, he told himself as he listened to his brother's breathing even out into sleep. After all they had done to him, to see him seek them out for comfort was just the latest sign that things were moving forward with him as they had hoped. In time, they may even get him to join their cause. A long shot, of course, but one they were hoping for.

What Barsad hadn't counted on when he gave in to the offer of comfort was falling asleep himself. Their training was nothing like the ones he'd put himself through in the past, and had not even come close to tiring him out. Not even the hot shower, something he considered a luxury, had done the trick. It was laying there, listening to his brother sleep that lulled his own body into slumber. For how long, he wasn't sure. He enjoyed having the boy curled up into his chest, and had even allowed his own to curl around Blake in return, a reminder of their days with their sister. Maybe their little brother had softened him just a bit. But as long as their plan was carried out, what did it matter?

At some point during their slumber, Bane had joined them as well. Even asleep Barsad always knew when his brother was nearby, and this time was no different. He was certain that connection went both ways as he usually found his brother at his back when they slept. In this instance, he woke to find his brother curled up on the other side of Blake, his hand moving up and down their little brother's side in a soothing type motion. The motion made sense as muffled whimpers made their way to his ears, sounds that could only be coming from their little brother. A nightmare, most likely, and one from his time with them. Barsad knew it had left quite the imprint, and knew it wasn't something their little brother would ever forget. They could spend their time reinforcing the positive things but those early days where they'd spent their time torturing him would be the ones that held on the longest.

"Shh, little one," Barsad muttered as he carded his free hand through Blake's hair. The whimpers didn't taper off but neither did they get worse. If anything, their soothing gestures forced Blake closer towards him, a groan escaping Barsad's lips when he felt his little brother brush up against him. Bane had heard it as well, and the crinkling around his eyes meant they were both thinking the same thing. It was something they'd both thought about, but weren't going to push. So much had already happened, and pushing Blake away was the last thing they wanted. But he had come to them for comfort, and having their little brother cocooned between them, they thought of no better time than the present to see if their little brother would be receptive of such a thing.

Taking his one hand, Barsad tilted Blake's head slightly and slotted their mouths together. His brother's lips were slightly dry, but pleasing nonetheless, and running his tongue across them hummed when the other granted him the slightest of access. He wanted to take his time with Blake, show him that this could be a good thing, something they could all enjoy, but his body kept demanding that he take what he wanted, that he were just as rough with this one as he and Bane were when they were together. He refused to do so, and his patience was rewarded when his brother tentatively started to reciprocate his actions and allowed his hands to explore Barsad's body.

Their kiss had been tentative at first, exploratory and curiosity at everything that was going on. John had never really kissed anyone before and Barsad was being gentle, teasing him with only a flick of his tongue before moving to nip at his lips. It felt good, right even, and he wanted more than their tongues teasing the other, their hands exploring the other like it was the first time. And then there was the other hand, the one that kept running up and down his chest, brushing his cock when his hips canted forward. They were far too gentle to be Barsad's, and his first thought was to panic. It should have scared him, having Bane not only so close to him but having his hands run over his body. The only thing that kept him from panicking was Barsad – his comforting touches, the way he kept his mind off of things with his tongue, the jolt of pleasure that came when their cocks brushed against each other through their pants.

It all felt good, and he wanted more. Bane and Barsad seemed to have wanted more, as well. John felt Bane pull him closer, feeling the heat from beneath this shirt against his back and the bulge pressing against his ass as Barsad continued to kiss and touch and nip at every exposed place he could find. He wasn't even sure what he should have been feeling as his body was overwhelmed with everything both mercenaries were doing to him. Barsad had decided to remove his shirt and feeling both of their hands on his chest had the first of what was bound to be the first of many pleasurable sounds they pulled from him. The little voice in the back of his head kept telling him how wrong it was, how he shouldn't have been enjoying it. All he did was ignore it, and allowed his hands to travel down Barsad's body. He couldn't help but hum in appreciation when he pulled the moan of pleasure from the other.

As hands continued to explore, John felt a particular pair skirt his ass and as memories of that one fateful night flooded his head, he stopped everything he was doing causing the other two to stop as well. After a few moments, and more coercion from Barsad's talented tongue, they return to their explorations, and John allows them to remove his pants. But only if Barsad did the same. His mind still couldn't deal with Bane in that state, but oddly enough he felt comfortable enough with the other. Barsad only chuckled at the request before shimmying his way out of his pants and tossing his shirt off to one side before returning to attack his little brother full force, nipping at more than just his throat. With access to his body, he was determined to leave reminders of their time together.

Watching his brother, Bane found himself getting jealous for the first time in quite a long time, a growl the only sign he would give to them. The mask prevented him from leaving marks on their brother's body, and he was left doing nothing more than watching as they were allowed to enjoy the pleasures that came with not having to worry about a mask. When Barsad was done with his fun, he adjusted his position and threaded his hand between his brothers, encircling both of their cocks in his hand. Their sounds were music to his ears, the way their bodies moved together something of beauty. And as they both thrust into his fist, the friction pulling even more sounds from his brothers, he watched with an odd sense of happiness as they both were brought to orgasm, his own needs ignored for the time being. It wasn't something he needed. Just something he enjoyed.

And as their little brother drifted off to sleep, a look of content plastered to his face, Bane slipped off to the bathroom to not only clean himself up, but his brothers as well. He returned only moments after leaving, and gently cleaned up their little bird. Barsad could only roll back onto his back as his brother took his time cleaning him up, as well. "Would you like me to take care of you, brother," he asked, amused when he saw Bane actually contemplate his offer before telling him that he would be fine, and that he should rest. Truthfully, he was more hungry than tired, though their actions did have him thinking that a quick nap wouldn't hurt anyone. Especially as it would mean sleeping with their little brother just a little bit longer. "We will eat when you wake, brother," Bane told Barsad before slipping out of the bedroom. There was work to be done, and he would leave his brothers to sleep for just a bit longer. If only to reinforce the fact that Blake was one of them, and that family always took care of their own.

When John woke again the bed was empty and Barsad's side of the bed had long gone cold. It was an odd sensation. Waking up alone when he knew he hadn't gone to sleep that way. He vaguely remembered going to sleep with Barsad on one side of him, and Bane on the other. There was also an odd feeling of being sated that he couldn't ignore either. They'd done – something. As a group. And it had been pleasurable. Very much so. Yet, he couldn't help but feel disgusted with himself, like he was betraying everything he believed in by not only laying with the mercenaries but enjoying the pleasure and comfort they brought. They called him their little brother, and a part of him was desperate to cling onto it, to believe it with all that he was. If only it meant not having to turn his back on Gotham, and protecting it like he'd sworn to do the day he joined the police force.

He laid in bed far longer than he'd meant to, only stirring when his stomach started to protest the lack of food. His thoughts kept churning between accepting the situation for what it was, that he was not their prisoner but their brother and that leaving would do far more harm than good, and continuing the fight, looking for his chance to escape and taking it, ignoring the fact that just the thought of leaving hurt more than it should. They had taken care of him when he'd been so sick, had comforted him, called him their brother and wanted him around. No one since his parents had ever made him feel like that. Not even the commissioner. But they were mercenaries, there was a bomb roaming the city just waiting to go off, they were going to kill everyone in the city, and for what? Was that the sort of person he wanted to become? Someone who could accept that sometimes the death of innocent lives was necessary?

John no longer knew, and that frustrated him even more than the fact he was starting to slowly come to terms with his imprisonment, and was preferring it to the chaos that had gripped the city. They'd done something to him somehow. More than the beard burn from Barsad that he felt each time the sheets touched his skin. They'd changed him, though, made him see things that maybe were there the whole time and that he'd just overlooked. He wasn't certain he liked the changes that were slowly taking place, but he knew he couldn't fight them either. It felt right. All of the changes. And maybe that had been their plan all along. The only way he would find out would be to talk to Barsad. He still couldn't face Bane. Not when he still couldn't forget that one night in the sewers. Barsad, though, would at least be honest with him.

Throwing off the sheets, he pulled himself out of bed, and gathered the clothes he'd found scattered on the one side of the bed on the floor. The shower seemed to be calling his name, considering what had happened earlier, but he found himself putting on the sweats and shirt and padding out into the small living area in the hopes that Barsad was there. John had no idea if the mercenary was using another room in the abandoned hotel to make the chemicals he knew were for Bane, or if he still had a place somewhere else to use. He didn't even know if he could actually roam the hotel or if the others would think of him as some discarded toy to be used by them. It wasn't something he wanted to find out. He knew Barsad would eventually return to their room. It was just a matter of time.

Luckily he didn't have to wait to talk to the other man. Barsad was sitting on the couch, his sniper rifle disassembled on the table in front of him. John knew, and had seen him with it previously. But now seeing it in different pieces on the table, watching as he meticulously cleaned each piece with the same sort of care he'd seen used on him made it all real. It was the harsh realization that he was choosing to involve himself with a pair of trained killers, that it wasn't some sort of nightmare that he would eventually wake up from. Was he okay with that? He didn't know. And he wouldn't know unless he actually talked to the other man. Yet he found himself unable to move, mesmerized by just how efficient Barsad really was.

"Sleep well, little one," Barsad asked as he continued with his work. He had heard Blake toss and turn in the bedroom, knew he had plenty on his mind if his thrashing about was anything to go by. If their little brother wanted to talk, he knew where they could be found. And judging by the fact he'd dragged himself from bed, he knew Blake's curiosity had won out. "If you're hungry, I can fetch some food for you." John wasn't even certain how to respond. He was hungry, yes, but he was also trying to figure out just where he fit in all of this. Food, though, did sound good. And maybe they could talk while he ate.

"All right," John muttered as he shuffled from the door and took up a spot on the small couch across from where Barsad was working. He wasn't sure what he could ask, what he should ask, and what he should just forget about. But food would give him temporary focus until he could sort out everything in his head. "Food – yeah, that would be good considering I hadn't eaten since – what time is it even?"

"The middle of the night. You were only asleep a few short hours, little one," Barsad told him as he finished working on the last piece that needed to be cleaned. He could have gone to the small room he'd acquired to work on the chemicals for their brother. It was something he probably should have done. Instead, he stayed behind to wait on their little brother to wake, not wanting to make his already fragile state worse by allowing him to wake alone. "I shall return shortly, brother, with food for us both." John could only nod as the other left him alone in the room.

The instant the door closed, he found himself looking between it, the rifle pieces on the table, and the window to his left. Since their move above ground, they'd yet to really leave him alone. This was the first time, and he found himself contemplating the possibility of escape. It couldn't hurt, at least, and as John pushed himself up thought about just what would happen should he actually leave. They'd most likely hunt him down again, and standing in front of the window, he looked out onto the city he'd sworn to protect and knew there was no where he could hide. They had eyes and ears everywhere, it seemed. And even if he wanted to run, there would always be that small ache in his chest as a reminder of just who he'd left behind. Fighting just seemed pointless, and as he heard the door behind him open again, John knew he was slowly starting to come to a decision it seemed that the rest of his body had already decided upon.

"Can we talk, Barsad," he asked as he was still focused on the city on the other side of the window. Barsad had been caught off guard at his brother's question, though all of his training meant he wouldn't have ever shown it. Again, it was the first time Blake had come to them instead of the other way around, and as he placed their meal on the table, he joined the other at the window. "Of course we can," he said, curious as to what was on the other's mind.

With a sigh, John dropped his shoulders and turned to face Barsad. There were so many things he wanted to know, but the only thing he could ask was, "why?" Why him, he wanted to know. Why had they kept him alive for so long, treated him like one of their own, even going so far as to take care of him. Why? It was a simple enough question, though looking at the other man, seeing the confusion etched over his face, he knew he'd need to at least clarify exactly what he was asking for. Though, was it something he wanted to know? Or would the answers just add to his confusion?

"Why you, you mean," Barsad said, reaching out to bring Blake closer to him. They knew eventually their little brother would ask questions. It was just a matter of time. Neither of them expected it quite this soon, though, and he knew Bane would be pleased with this new development. John could only nod in response, knowing that words would only fail him. As much as he wanted to know, there was a part that didn't want to know. Would it change everything? Or would it make it worse? He was damned either way, it seemed. And unfortunately it was too late to back out.

"You were captured with those of high importance to us," Barsad explained, allowing the words to sink in before moving forward with the story. "You would have the information we needed, and thought you would break more easily than some of the others we had captured. You proved us wrong, little one. You held out far longer than we thought." He paused again, allowing the words to once again sink in. As he explained it all, he could feel Blake's body start to stiffen, and he started to run his hands down the boy's back in an attempt to soothe the images that were bound to be flooding back into his thoughts.

"You remind us of our sister," he added as he felt the muscles underneath his hand start to loosen. "She had a similar fire to yours, impulsive and full of anger. But with the proper training she's become someone we gladly call sister. The same can be done for you. That is why we chose you, brother." Barsad only wished they'd found him sooner. He knew he would have made an even better ally with longer training. But with what they were giving him? Their little brother would make a good addition to the fight that was quickly coming to a head.

Barsad's words made sense. A lot of sense, actually. John was just confused by it all, the thoughts of what he knew mixed with how he felt about everything. Was it so wrong to have an outlet for the anger he felt a lot of the time? Or was he just kidding himself into thinking they would somehow survive all of this and his training would continue?

"You are our brother, John," Barsad said as he guided the other back to the table. "Now eat and if you like we can talk later."


	11. Chapter 11

They had talked later, after both of them had finished their meals. John had listened while Barsad explained the league, how Gotham's protector was a member and had gone through similar training as to what they were putting him through, and how their plan was something that was set into stone long before they'd come to Gotham. The mercenary had explained that the league's main goal was to rid the world of corruption and how Gotham had been a target for a long time, a target that should have been dealt with the instant the Batman had returned. He was told that even with the league's original headquarters destroyed and its leader murdered, their sister had taken up the cause and was the one who made certain the plan that had been devised for the city was finally followed through, and that they weren't doing this out of some misguided notion, that this was what had to be done. For the greater good, he added.

It made sense. Listening to Barsad explain it all, being told that there was a rhyme to their reason, it actually made a lot of sense. And it shouldn't have. John had sworn to protect Gotham and its citizens. No matter what the cost. Yet, he'd listened to just what the mercenaries had planned for the city and he would be damned if he didn't actually understand their reasoning. What did that say about him? That he was willing to not only listen to their explanations, but actually understand and even see things from their point of view, as well. He was a Gotham City cop and he was actually seeing things from the enemy's point of view. After all the time he'd spent fighting them, of telling himself that he would survive and make it out alive, it had all boiled down to his resolves not being as strong as he'd always assumed they would be.

Once their conversation was done John sat and watched as Barsad reassembled the rifle he'd watched him clean. He was still impressed with just how efficient he was. But it was the realization that he was aligning himself with the enemy that kept rattling around inside of his head Combine that with the confusion he felt and he wondered if there really was a right and a wrong choice. No one had ever come looking for him, and he was certain no one even knew he was still alive as he'd never left the sewers and now the hotel. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. They were offering him a new, albeit temporary life where he would matter, where he wouldn't be put down for being nothing more than a hotheaded cop. Was that such a bad thing? Or would those he once worked for call him a traitor once they spotted him?

The war was going to continue to rage on in his head no matter what he did. John knew he was being pulled in two different directions and the only one who could put it all to an end was someone who didn't even know if he wanted it to. Sleep was the only thing that seemed to give him any sort of relief. As temporary as it was. And without even saying another word, stood up and returned to the bedroom hoping that it would give him the answers he craved. Barsad had noticed the weight that seemed to be on their little brother's shoulders as he left. He wanted to give some sort of guidance, but the struggles he thought the boy was having could only be solved by himself. They had talked, Blake had listened, and all that was left was for him to make that one last decision – stay and help with the fight, or leave to die with the rest of the citizens. Not the easiest of decisions but one that needed to be made.

It was also something he needed to inform his other brother of – the fact their little brother had decided to engage them for information instead of the other way around. Barsad had known it would happen eventually. Blake was similar to their sister in a lot of ways and it was only a matter of time before his own curiosity would get the better of him. Unfortunately, time was starting to run out on them. They had a month, two at most before the bomb would explode. If the day's training was anything to go by they could actually start stepping it up. What little he had would allow him to join their fight. But if he wanted to actually survive it, Barsad knew he would need to be better prepared.

The next morning he did just that – informing Blake that they would be stepping up his training, and that he should be prepared for much more work. John was caught off guard by the new routine considering they'd just started it the day before. But maybe Barsad had seen something that he'd missed. The academy had done a decent job of preparing him for what it would be like to be a beat cop, but it was nothing like what they'd worked on the day before. His muscles were still aching from all the work they'd done. It was a good ache, though. And it was something he was probably going to be feeling more of as the days went by and they continued to work on the skills he'd already had. He still had no idea of the decision he needed to make. And maybe he didn't have to make it now. He could wait. And see. And wonder if maybe the choice would eventually make itself known.

Those first few days were the worst. Barsad tended to put Blake onto his ass more often than not, and John continued to get frustrated with just how often he found himself unable to get any sort of blow in on the other. Of course, each night was spent together in bed. Usually with the three of them, but sometimes it ended up just being himself and Barsad. The nights where it was just the two of them they ended up exploring more and more of each other, though it never got to the point where they were fucking each other. John had always put a stop to it before it ever got that far, the images of what happened in the sewers still too fresh in his mind. Barsad seemed to understand that and never pushed. It was an oddly nice way to end their training – tangled limbs as they slept.

After a couple of weeks things started to change. John tended to be the one putting Barsad onto his back, and getting in more blows. He also felt himself becoming more limber, and his speed picking up all that much more. It was nothing in comparison to Barsad, though. The man was lithe and fast and not the sort he would have ever expected. But he was a good teacher and they worked on building up his skills that they'd learned the previous day, along with adding new ones. And oddly enough he felt happy. For the first time in a long time he felt good. Maybe that was from their workouts, maybe it was from the time they spent at night tangled up in each other. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that they'd given his anger a focus, an outlet and he had no real reason to stay angry any more. The feelings were still there. They were just tempered. John didn't care what the reasons were. It was just nice to feel something other than anger and hate all the time.

All of that changed roughly a month after they'd started their training. The weather had changed, snow had started to pile up on the rooftop, and the temperatures had dropped to a point where one would need multiple layers just to keep warm. It hadn't stopped their training. If anything, the cold was an incentive to stay off of the ground. Every day brought a new challenge, as well as a new accomplishment. Even some of the others had come to watch as they trained. What John hadn't expected, though, was to see Bane walk out of the door that lead from the building onto the roof. He was used to some of the others standing around to watch them. But Bane? Nothing could have prepared him for the flood of feelings that came with seeing him stand at the door and watch.

He and Barsad were sparring, like they do every day. Normally the others came and went as they pleased, and their movements rarely if ever caught his attention. This time was different. John had noticed movement at the door, figured it was just one of the others and was about to make his move against Barsad when the sun illuminated the glints of metal that made up Bane's mask. He froze in his tracks, unable to concentrate on anything other than the fact that his captor was standing there watching him. Barsad had noticed the change as well, and took the opportunity to knock the boy's feet from under him, shaking his in amusement as he landed square on his ass on the ground.

"Concentration, Blake. We've been over this before," he told the boy as he offered his hand in a peace offering, and to help him out. Barsad had heard Blake mutter something and once the other was on his feet, cuffed the back of his head. He'd known their brother was coming to the rooftop for a visit as he'd made the suggestion earlier that week. The reason was two fold; one, it would throw off their little brother, and two it would show Bane how far they'd come in a relatively short period of time. There may have been a mention or two of their brother showing him things that only he could. His size differential would help fine tune the things that he could not. Bane had also had training from the league; something Barsad had not. Between the two of them they could turn their little brother into something that would survive the oncoming fight.

"What's he doing here," John asked once he'd brushed off the snow from his clothing. His eyes were continually darting between Barsad and Bane. He wasn't afraid. Confused was a better word. The three of them had shared the same bed. Only difference between that and now was the fact he didn't have to see Bane. He felt him, his large hand a comfort in the night. Seeing him, though, brought back all the memories that he'd been trying to forget.

"I asked him to, little one," Barsad told him as he reached out to place a hand on the boy's shoulder. He could see Blake trying to figure out what he should do – stay and fight, or run. While they'd worked hard to improve his actual skills there were just some things they wouldn't be able to fix. The fact that their brother brought out certain emotions and memories were one of those things. All he could do was remind their little brother that the best way to deal with them was to work through it all.

"You asked – "

"Yes, I did. Our brother has more training than myself," he explained, relieved when he felt the tension slowly melt away in Blake's body. "He can help. If you let him."

John was confused. More so than he already was. Help in his training should have been a good thing. But it was Bane. The one person he couldn't look at without remembering. Maybe Barsad was right. Maybe this was his chance to not only improve his skills but to finally face the fear that constantly gripped his nightmares.

"All right," he agreed, having noticed for the first time that their usually group of on-lookers was no longer present. Had Bane sent them away? Or had their momentary lapse of sparring given off the impression that all was done for the day? John couldn't help but sigh, knowing that it honestly didn't matter. It was once again the three of them and Barsad had a point. If Bane could show him things the other could not, why should he turn it down? And who knew, he might actually be able to work through the nightmares in the process.

After watching Bane and Barsad warm up and spar together, John was starting to think that maybe he'd bitten off just a bit more than he was able to digest. Barsad was fast but Bane was unimaginably faster, predicting the other's moves. He knew there was no way he'd be able to best him. It had taken him the whole month to be able to best Barsad on a regular basis. Bane? Something told him he was going to end up on his ass far more than he had when it had just been himself and Barsad. And that image alone put just a bit more fear into him than normal.

Once the two men were done, John noticed Bane motion for him. For a few moments all he could do was stare and force himself to not only breathe but swallow as well. The goal of this wasn't to hurt him but to help him. This wasn't the sewers, he wasn't going to yank away what little freedom he'd gained once they were done. It was nothing more than a training session, something to build upon the skills Barsad had already taught him. He knew that, and yet all he could do was stare and wonder if maybe the other man had overestimated just how much improvement he'd made since they first started their sessions.

"Good luck, little brother," Barsad teased as he pushed Blake towards their brother. It was amusing to see him standing there like some sort of statue, having watched Bane and himself spar. It was no different than any other day. Other than it was just another opponent. Or maybe it was the fear that kept him cemented in place. None of it mattered. Blake needed to face this head on if he was to ever get past it. If he couldn't, they would have wasted precious time in improving his skills.

"Bastard," John muttered as he allowed the momentum from Barsad's shove to carry him forward. While the other two had sparred he watched and studied them in the hopes of finding a way to avoid ending up on his ass. Bane was good. Just like Barsad. And if he could put the smaller of the two mercenaries onto his ass, logic told him that the same should work for the other one. There was also his ire bubbling to the surface. This was his chance to fight back, to get some sort of revenge for what had happened in the sewers. Revenge. The word had left an odd taste in his mouth, even though he hadn't spoken it. It wasn't revenge. He hadn't forgiven Bane, but neither would he forget. This was just conquering one fear so he could move forward.

For one last moment he studied Bane. John knew the other was studying him as well, and he wondered if allowing his anger to be the motivating factor would give him some sort of advantage. Barsad's training had taught him not to just go on impulse but Bane didn't know that. He would only remember the stubborn boy from the sewers. Which meant he might have just a slight advantage. It seemed as good an idea as any other, and he decided to attack Bane focusing that anger into something that might actually work. His attempt was met with a punch to the gut, forcing him to the ground and leaving him completely breathless.

"A good effort, little bird," Bane told him as he offered his hand to help Blake up. "But you forget that I know about you and had expected that attack." He had been informed of their little brother's progress and knew what to expect the first time they decided to spar. Though he would commend the boy for at least trying something he thought would quite possibly fail.

John lay on the ground for a few moments as he contemplated what taking the proffered hand would mean. It was nothing more than a simple gesture, but to him it meant something more. It meant an offering of help and Bane was the last person he wanted help from. He also didn't want his suggestions, either. Barsad had never truly abused him, so his words held just a bit more meaning than Bane's. But the other mercenary was making an effort, and grabbing his hand allowed Bane to hoist him back onto his feet. It was a step forward, he told himself as he brushed off the snow and dirt in preparation for the next try.

His second, third, and fourth attempts ended just as spectacularly as the first one had. With John flat on his back and slightly out of breath. Everything Barsad had taught him seemed to be failing and out of frustration he had once again allowed his anger to get the better of him. It was only when Barsad put an end to the session after another dozen or so attempts did he finally feel the anger drain out of him. He knew it was progress – going from sparring with Barsad to sparring with Bane. Even though there was still the desire to kill Bane. But it was hard to feel underneath the layers of exhaustion that came with expending so much energy in a session he knew he couldn't win.

And maybe that wasn't the point of the whole thing. Force him to face Bane, to expend the energy so the next time they sparred they could actually be productive instead of fighting like animals.


	12. Chapter 12

After that first time, their sparring sessions seemed to take on more of a purpose than it had previously. Instead of building on the defensive techniques, they had started on working on techniques that he could use in an offensive stance. John knew they were preparing him for a fight. The rumours were running rampant throughout their hotel that the Batman had returned, and as much as he wanted to know if it were true, he knew better than to ask such things. The tension between Bane and Barsad when they were together was enough to keep his curiosity at bay. He also didn't want to add to the tension, knowing that whatever time they had left together was something he wanted to have positive memories of. And then there was the fact that at some point he was going to need to make a decision as to just what he was going to do.

By accepting their training, he had made it clear that he was willing to fight on their side. But was he? Was he capable of turning his back on the city he'd grown up in? John didn't have an answer for that question. He was grateful for their training, and the fact they'd given him more tools than he'd had when they initially captured him. Another part of him was grateful to them for keeping him alive even though they had no need of him any more. But Gotham was a city he'd sworn to protect. Even with the corruption that was rife throughout it. Turning his back on that was no easy feat. His loyalties had always been something he could depend on. Now, Bane and Barsad had him questioning everything and what should have been an easy decision was made worse.

"John, it's time," Barsad said as he sat on the bed next to his brother. The days had been growing short, the rumours that had been circulating were starting to become fact, and their brother's mood had changed into something akin to anger. Even at night, when they dared to spend them together, he couldn't get Bane to relax at all. Their plan had accounted for many different variables but Bruce Wayne's return wasn't one of them. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do. The bomb would still go off and the city would be cleansed of the filth that had had far too much time to accumulate. Death was inevitable, and innocent blood would be shed. All for the cause.

"Come on, little one. Today is a good day for all of us," he told Blake, watching as the other rolled over to face him. John knew what the day was. The chatter that he'd heard from the door made it clear that today the bomb would go off. Even if Batman had returned, there was nothing anyone could do to stop the inevitable. Turning over, he laced his fingers through Barsad's and nodded that he understood. It was far past the time he normally dragged himself out of bed. Up until that morning, their time had been split between training and just enjoying the others company. But as each day passed he could feel both Bane and Barsad indulging themselves more and more at night. They never fucked, but each night was spent in ignorant bliss of what the future held for them. It was a memory John wanted to hold onto as long as possible.

"I know what today is, and I'm not sure I'd call it a good day," he explained as the look on Barsad's face fell. John understood that sometimes innocent people had to die. He just wasn't okay with it. Even after everything they'd done, it still bothered him on some level.

"Does this mean – "

Their conversation was interrupted by an explosion off in the city. John watched as Barsad ran from the bedroom and out of their room, the door slamming shut behind him. He was probably in search of Bane. Had things already started? Or was something else going on? He knew there was only one way to find out. But did he honestly want to know? He did, unfortunately. And as he pushed himself up and out of bed, his eyes focused on the set of clothing Barsad had left for him. They weren't the ones he'd normally worn during his captivity. If anything, they were similar to the ones they all worse. Even down to a remarkably similar red scarf. He should have been pleased with the fact they'd considered him a brother and had even offered him something that would cement that fact.

John was anything but. With Barsad's departure he'd basically been given his freedom. He should have been running out and towards the orphanage. They would need all the help he could give them if they wanted any sort of chance of escaping the blast radius. Again he found himself unable to do anything other than stare at the clothing that had been left for him while the occasional blast echoed off the buildings around him. Before his captivity, he'd spent whatever free time he had helping out the boys at the orphanage. And when he'd found out some were going missing, he took on the case himself in an attempt to find out just what was going on. The boys, along with the commissioner, Miss Tate and Lucius Fox, were the main reasons he'd stayed strong for as long as he had.

Now none of it mattered. There was no time to get out of the city and far enough away to escape the bomb blast. Not if the only bridge out of the city was still blocked off. And why should he concern himself with people who hadn't bothered to look for him? They probably assumed his was dead. Why should his loyalty be to a city who never really cared about him in the first place? Barsad had. Even the mercenary, Bane, had. They had even gone so far as calling him brother, made him a part of their odd family, and shown him more than any of the others from his past.

Another blast rattled the windows, and all he could see were the faces of his brothers, of Bane and Barsad, flashing in front of eyes. John knew he should have been out there fighting beside him. Never in his life had he ever run from one, and he didn't want to start now. But neither could he just get up and leave the room. It had been his life for so long that a part of him was afraid of stepping outside. They hadn't told him specifically what would happen should he try to run, but having seen the way the other mercenaries looked at him he knew. He would be nothing more than some sort of toy for them to use and then discard once they were done.

But they'd called him brother. And expected him to fight next to them. That was why they'd spent all that time training him. It had to have meant something. He felt another explosion rattle the windows and without another thought, he jumped out of bed and hastily threw his clothes on. John dared a glance in the mirror, surprised with just how different he looked compared to before he'd been captured. Gone was the skinny kid, replaced with someone he didn't quite recognize. He wasn't as lithe as Barsad, but neither was his built like Bane. It was an odd medium between them. Their training had done this to him. And if he could barely recognize himself in the mirror, something told him none of the people he used to know would recognize him either.

The only weapon he'd been left with was a knife, something they'd been practising with as of late. John had hoped Barsad would have left him with his service weapon as it was what he was semi-comfortable with. He could at least take relief in knowing he wouldn't be completely defenceless when he ran through the crowd. It was rather startling to have come to the conclusion he had. He may have sworn to protect Gotham but in the end the city had failed him. There was no reason left for him to stand by it as his friends – no his brothers were fighting for something they believed in. One time he believed that Gotham deserved to be saved. Now, maybe Bane and Barsad had been right. Maybe it was best to raze the city and allow life to start a new.

He raced out of their room, down the stairs and out the door, allowing the sound of gunfire to lead him towards where he knew Bane and Barsad would be. John had tried to stick to the shadows and side streets, not wanting anyone to recognize just who he was. He wasn't ashamed. It would be faster if he wasn't having to constantly dodge the cops. Unfortunately, the closer he got to where he'd overheard Bane tell Barsad to meet up with him, the more he had to avoid the main streets. Cops seemed to be coming out of nowhere and the explosions and gunfire were getting louder. A sure sign he was heading in the right direction.

"Hey! You there," the voice called out, stilling his movement. John glanced towards the man, eyes widening in shock as his eyes settled on his training officer. The man had been almost like a father to him, was someone he respected, and seeing him on the streets had actually shocked him. Even worse, he was recognized. If one could, the others could as well. Though it seemed as if the other man was just as surprised, if his looks were anything to go by. He knew if he wanted to get to where his brothers were, he needed to take care of his past. Ignoring the guilt that was starting to come to the surface, he charged the other man, knocking them both to the ground. In the ensuing struggle, John had the advantage and ended up on knocking the older man unconscious. He refused to kill anyone. Even though he was properly armed.

After dragging him into a nearby alley, he continued his trek towards the loudest of the noises. John had only made it a couple blocks before he found himself tangled with another officer. Unlike the previous fight, this was more even. He considered himself lucky that the other man hadn't recognized him. Though it meant he wouldn't have the element of surprise on his side. He could handle that, though, and without as much as a second thought rushed towards the other man. He'd been able to get one throw in before the other man caught him by surprise and knocked him to the ground. The pain was sharp, reminding him of the time he'd been shot. But unlike the other time, John knew he hadn't been. It just hurt to breathe.

He refused to let his anger get the better of him, and jumping back to his feet went right back at the other man. They exchanged blows and even a few well chosen words, but in the end John was relieved when he got the better of the other and knocked him out cold. For a few brief moments he had thought about going for the knife that sit on his hip. He'd never really killed anyone, and he wasn't about to start. Not unless he'd been given a good reason. Killing another cop was the worst reason he could think of.

It was a struggle after that. For each few steps he took, he found himself embroiled in yet another fight. John knew it was only a matter of time before someone recognized him, or worse got the better of him and dragged him off to whatever holding area they'd concocted. How was he to explain why he was dressed like the mercenaries, why he was alive when word was bound to have gotten out that he was dead? He couldn't, and he knew that. It was what kept him moving forward through the crowd. That and the fact that he was determined to reunite with Bane and Barsad before the bomb actually went off. That was actually his main objective, and moving through the crowd, was relieved when he finally was able to spot the location he'd heard.

Sidestepping another fight, he watched with curiosity as Barsad exited the building with what looked like Miranda Tate at his side. John remembered Barsad mentioning their sister. Just never her actual name. Seeing him with the Tate woman meant that she'd known all along who he was, and where the others were and he couldn't suck in enough air to keep breathing. He had gotten shot because of her. He'd endured torture to keep her and the others safe. And all along she'd been one of them. He wanted to yell, to scream, to demand to know why. It was something he felt like he deserved. Especially after everything they'd put him through.

A shot rang through the air, and as he focused his attention back on the building, watched as Barsad toppled off the tumbler. His heart stopped momentarily, and all the anger that he felt quickly drained from him. None of it mattered. John remembered something Barsad had told him once – family took care of their own. Not matter what. Bane and Barsad, as screwed up as it seemed, were the closest thing he had to family, and he wasn't about to allow them to go down without knowing he was there helping them. They deserved to know that he was there, by their sides at the end.

With a new sense of purpose, he rushed through the crowd, avoiding as many as the fights as he could. John heard the cops call out his name, some even trying to grab him as he rushed by. Each time he avoided them and the few times he did end up being grabbed, he turned and used the training he'd been given. It didn't matter what the others thought, he was free of them and needed to find Barsad, to make certain his brother hadn't died. Once his feet hit the steps, he took them two at a time, scanning the area for the one person he knew shouldn't have been that hard to find. It took far longer than he had thought it would, and spotting the body close to where the tumbler had been, he rushed over and immediately dropped to his knees.

"Barsad," he called out as he looked over the body for any other wounds. There was blood oozing from the man's shoulder, but he couldn't see anything else wrong. John hoped that it was a good sign, being no other signs of injury, and went to feel for some sort of pulse. The knife to his throat had been unexpected to say the least, and all he could do was grab Barsad's wrist and keep telling him it was just him.

"John," Barsad said as the words finally sunk in. He could feel the pain radiating out from his shoulder, and knew he would be out of commission for a bit. But it wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with in the past. Hearing their little brother's words, though, had been a bit of a surprise. "We didn't think you would show, little one." On their way from the hotel, he and Bane discussed the odds of their brother actually showing up or if he would join the resistance. Seeing him there would have actually warmed what heart their brother had left.

"Course I did," John told him behind a smirk. Their location was far too exposed and as much as he hated to do so, he dragged Barsad to his feet and they both stumbled up towards the shadows of the columns. "Let me guess. You two had some sort of bet thinking I wouldn't show up." A weakened cuff to the head was the only response he got from Barsad. Along with a bit of a smirk. He was relieved to know that at least one of his brothers were alive and well. Now they just had to find Bane. Once that was done, they could find a way out of the city and quite possibly out of the country. He was certain once it was all said and done their mugs would be plastered all over this particular country.

"Where is – " John was unable to finish his question as another explosion rocked the building they were using for shelter. He wanted to get up and see just what had caused it. Only the strong grip on his wrist kept him in place, his common sense having temporarily evaded him. They were in the shadows, and no one would dare to look for them where they were. Should he actually move, someone would notice and he was certain Barsad wasn't capable of defending himself. And John knew he couldn't protect them both from a swarm of cops. So he waited, and watched as Bruce Wayne and some woman exited the building and raced off towards another part of the city.

"John. Our brother. Go now," Barsad told him as he shifted his position. He vaguely remembered leaving Bane there to deal with a weakened Batman, but again neither of them had expected the cat to come back and actually fight against them. She worked for them, had hand delivered Bruce to them, and now she'd turned. If they could somehow find her they would, and make certain she paid for harming their brother. He shoved John towards where the blast came from, and made certain the gun he had had enough ammunition to last until the other could return. If he was going to die, he would at least make certain to go down fighting.

John didn't waste any time in running towards where the pair had exited. No one had even bothered to stop him, and stepping in the building waited for the dust to settle to see if their brother had even survived such a blast. There was a lot of debris on the ground and a gaping hole in the furthest wall from the door. But no sign of Bane. He walked further into the building, trying to see what if anything had actually survived. Nothing. Had their brother survived? Or had the blast claimed him? The hole in the wall would be his best bet. If Bane had actually survived.

Stepping further into the building, walking over the large chunks of marble, he spotted what could only be a body. "No, nononono," he muttered, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him. There, underneath a pile of debris, was the lower half of a body he'd become all too familiar with over the last few weeks. There, buried beneath the marble, was his brother; Bane.


	13. Chapter 13

_John. John. Come on, little one. You've slept far too long._

John felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His mind was thick with sleep and the fog of the compound he'd taken a few days ago as part of his initiation. The hallucinations he had seen were only the start of what was to come and after it was all said and done, he could honestly say he'd never felt sicker in his life. At one point he honestly felt like he was going to die, and had vaguely heard Barsad or one of the other monks talk about some sort of rare reaction to the compound. He had survived the trek to find the damned blue flower only to die from the compound that required it. Somehow it seemed ironic considering everything else that had happened to him.

"Barsad," he managed to get out before turning onto his side and retching over the bed. If he'd felt bad before, he felt worse having emptied his stomach. And his head was pounding. "You gave us a scare, little bird," Barsad told him as he helped him into a sitting position and offered him sips of water. He'd been worried about his brother, and for a time wondered if maybe he wouldn't survive. There had never been any record of initiates having a fatal reaction to the compound. But then again their brother wasn't just anyone. They knew only what their sister had told him, and nothing more. His reaction was quite possible, and was noted in the records in case it should ever happen again.

"How's Bane," John asked after he'd taken a few sips. Finding him under the rubble, barely alive, was the last thing he had expected to find. Injured yes, but almost dead? He closed his eyes and laid back down. His head was still throbbing and thinking about their brother only made it worse.

"No better, no worse," was the only explanation Barsad could give him. In the months they'd been at the league's rebuilt headquarters, Bane had come close to dying multiple times on them. Between his injuries from the fight in Gotham, and the unspoken knowledge of their sister's death, it was a miracle he was even still alive. They had both been close to Talia, but Bane more than himself, and with her death he was certain his brother had a hole in his heart that couldn't quite be filled. Barsad wouldn't have blamed Bane if he'd just decided to give up on life. It would pain him, of course. But they were no longer bound to each other.

"Can I – "

"No. You need to rest and regain your strength, John. In a few days I will take you to him."

It was the longest few days of his life. Or at least that was how it felt. Each day he found himself getting better, and as the compound worked its way through his system, he felt the fog that seemed to have filled his head clear. John had never been more relieved the day he felt like he could actually get up without the world spinning, or worse having the hallucinations pop up into his field of vision. He had asked Barsad about it once. To see if there would ever come a time when he wouldn't see them. All he was told was that it was a part of his initiation, and that it would eventually pass. It was frustrating not knowing if he would be followed by the hallucinations for the rest of his life or not. But he trusted Barsad knew what he was doing and never asked again.

As he stood at the window, watching a late spring storm rage outside, John's thoughts once again went to his brothers. It had been more than just luck that they'd managed to get out of Gotham alive. Once he'd unburied Bane, he and Barsad had dragged him back into the sewers and into one of their old hiding spots. No one knew about it and they were safe until they could arrange transport out of the city. Bane was so close to death that neither he nor Barsad had any hope of him surviving. Especially as he started to mutter about Talia and their mission. There was also his medication to worry about. It would only last so long before it would run out and Barsad had told him that in his current state the pain from his injuries combined with the pain that his mask relieved would most likely kill him.

It was during their time in hiding that he'd managed to sneak out into the city and back into his apartment. John wasn't surprised that it had been ransacked. What had been surprising was whomever it was didn't bother with most of his stuff, taking only what was most valuable. He considered himself lucky, and gathered what he could to bring back to their hiding place. On his way out, he'd noticed that a note had been left on his counter – an invitation to Bruce Wayne's funeral along with a notification that he needed to be at the reading of his will. John wasn't even certain what could have been left for him, and knew he couldn't risk being seen by anyone.

Of course, his curiosity had won the better of him, and in the end he was grateful it had. Tucked away in the only bag he'd been allowed to bring was the coordinates of a cave they could use should they ever desire to return to Gotham. John hadn't had much time to explore. Just enough time to see that it would be perfect for them should they ever desire to finish what they'd started.

"John," Barsad called out, amused with how the boy's body immediately tensed before he forced it to relax. Even after all of their training, some things never would change. "If you're up for it, I can take you to see our brother." Bane was still very weak, and he'd yet to truly wake up from the sleep-like state he'd been in since they arrived. Barsad hoped that maybe having their little brother close by might actually coax him awake. And if it didn't? He would find a way to give their brother the peace he deserved.

John turned to face Barsad and smiled, knowing that words would only fail him. He'd been impatiently waiting for this particular day since the other had mentioned it. Now that it was there, he had nothing more to say that would make him look like some sort of child. Instead, he followed the man to another part of the compound, one he'd vaguely remembered from when they'd first arrived. It was isolated from everyone else, and he figured this was where they took people who needed medical attention. Or in Bane's case, someone who needed more help than someone like Barsad could offer. Somehow, he'd thought Bane would have survived his injuries and would have been a part of his training. This was the last place he'd expected.

"There is something you need to know before we go in," Barsad said as he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. Blake had been removed from this part of the compound long ago, and they'd told him that Bane would be moved out of it shortly thereafter. It had been a carefully constructed lie so that one wouldn't have to worry about the other. Now, Barsad was going to have to break it to his little brother that it was possible Bane may never wake up. "Bane – he's yet to really come to after we brought him here. I'm sure he knows about our sister's death and has no real reason to return to us." Barsad had tried to get his brother to come to. And nothing. Only the blink of an eye. Their little brother really was the only thing he had left to try before deciding it best to let him sleep eternally.

John could only nod in return, allowing his brother to lead him into the room. On the far side was their brother, sound asleep like the day they'd brought him to the mountainside retreat. His injuries had long since healed, and the only real difference was the mask. He vaguely remembered how damaged his old one was and when he went to ask Barsad about it, all he got in return was a shake of his head. It was a question he would ask later. Once they had made certain Bane was going to live. For now, he just wanted to be as close to his brother as possible.

"Can I," he asked, motioning with his hand to get closer to Bane.

"Of course, little one," Barsad told him as he lead them both over to the bed. "I've spent many nights just sitting here and talking to him. Maybe my presence is one he's too used to, one that holds too many painful memories." Barsad was bound to remind Bane of Talia. More so than Blake. Even though their little brother shared the same fire as their sister, he was nothing like the other, and was most likely their only hope of getting through to him. "I need to return to my workshop, John. We're trying to find the right materials to make a new mask for Bane. But sit with him. It might do you both some good."

John felt, rather than saw, his brother place the chastest of kisses to his cheek before leaving him alone with Bane. He no longer felt the hate that he felt that first day on the rooftop. In actuality, he felt a longing for his brother. Not of the romantic kind. They were family and to see him on the bed, so weak and unable to do anything, pulled at his heartstrings. His feet took him to Bane's side, and sitting on the chair, he watched as his brother slept. Had he not known any better, John would have assumed that was exactly what he was doing. He wasn't naïve, and knew that something else was keeping Bane from waking up. And he was determined to figure out just what that was.

"Barsad told me he'd spent many nights with you," he said as he grabbed Bane's hand and placed it between both of his own. "Stubborn bastard that he is, I'm not surprised. I never thought you would be the stubborn one. That was me, remember?" The days in the sewer were starting to come back to John, and while he'd dealt with them long ago, they still brought about a pain he was certain he would carry for the rest of his life. And then came the memories of one night in particular. He and Barsad had talked about it one night, during their time spent hiding from the rest of Gotham. It had felt good to get it off of his chest, and Barsad had told him that it was okay to one day forgive their brother for what he'd done. They had all changed during the occupation.

"I – ," he started to say as he looked down at the size difference of their hands. John wasn't even certain he could say what he wanted to say, but it was something that needed to be out in the open. "I forgive you. For what you did to me. I don't think I'll ever forget, but I forgive you, Bane. Just don't leave us. We both need you, brother." He'd brought their hands up to his lips and pressed the simplest of kisses to his knuckles before placing Bane's hand back on the bed. John could feel a few stray tears run down his face as he leaned back into the chair. It wasn't what he'd expected to say, but once he started to speak the words just started to flow, and he was unable to stop them.

John ran his hand across his face before crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the rhythmic breathing of Bane lulled him back into sleep. At some point over night, someone had brought him a blanket, and when his eyes fluttered open the next morning was met with something he hadn't expected. On the bed, a set of blue-grey eyes were watching as he'd slept. For how long? And had it been his words that had finally done the trick?

"Hey," John sheepishly muttered as he stretched the remaining bits of sleep from his body.

"You are here, little bird. Really here and not some sort of vision," Bane said, having seen many visions during his slumber.

"I am really here, brother," John told him. Even though Bane was still heavily drugged, he could see his eyes crinkle behind the mask and knew he'd smiled at him. "I should get Barsad. He will want to know you're awake."

The rest of the day had been spent talking with Bane about what had happened, how they'd escaped Gotham, and how they had ended up back at the mountainside retreat. John was relieved that it had been Barsad who had explained to Bane that their sister had not made it out of Gotham alive. He had also explained that the bomb had not gone off in the city. A mixture of ire and sadness shone through their brother's eyes, but a squeeze to his wrist was the only reminder that was needed. They were alive. All three of them. Anything else was secondary to that fact.

John had also mentioned the cave that had been left to him, and that should they ever want to return to Gotham he would make it available to them. Barsad had told him that it was something they could discuss in the future, once his training was complete and Bane was at full health. Judging by Bane's reaction, the future would be sooner rather than later. And John was okay with that. Gotham could wait. They would return when it was least expected, when people had been lulled back into their false sense of security, and thought they were safe in their homes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your wonderful comments. Especially as this was my first foray into OTB territory. A sequel might be in the future for this particular story. And my tumblr if anyone wants it (yeah a shameless plug):
> 
>   [depthsofmysol](http://depthsofmysol.tumblr.com)


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